It was full dark now, and the blond haired man had been sitting in his car for what felt like an eternity. He knew the front of the building down to the number of stones, could accurately number the windows and the panes of glass comprising each. It was a waiting game, and he knew Amon would not suffer idleness long. Only a matter of time now…
His patience was rewarded when he spotted movement. A dark haired man in a long black coat separated himself from the gloom of the black alley and hurried off down the sidewalk, keeping tight against the buildings and moving in the shadows. Amon.
He punched a number into his phone while keeping an eye on the retreating figure in his side mirror. The line connected and he spoke quickly. "This is Grieg," the blond haired man stated, "and I have the target spotted. He's in the open and I'm tailing. I need a team to track me, but wait for my signal before closing in." Agent Grieg listened for the confirmation before closing the phone with a sharp snap.
But as he slipped it back in the pocket of his long black leather coat and grabbed the door handle, movement on the street made him pause. A familiar black sedan had pulled to a stop and a woman slid out of the backseat and entered the building he had spent the day scrutinizing.
Grieg waited for Morgan to clear the door before jumping out of his own car. It would be only moments now before she knew Amon was no longer in the nest Father Juliano had secured for him. She would realize he was gone and would raise the alarm. Shrugging his coat a little higher on his shoulders, he quickly followed Amon's footsteps. He had to retrieve the missing Hunter first. There was no other option.
Morgan, barefoot and winded, stood in the lobby of the apartment with the phone pressed to her ear like a lifeline. "Father, we have a problem."
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "What kind of problem?" Juliano asked calmly.
Too calmly. Morgan had heard that tone of voice from him not even half a day ago; knew the expression that accompanied it. A chill trickled down her spine and she clutched the phone harder. "Amon's gone."
"Amon's gone," Juliano repeated slowly.
"Yes sir, gone. The agents downstairs say there wasn't a sound, no indication that anything was out of the ordinary. We're not even sure how he left."
"You're assuming," Juliano replied, "that Amon left of his own volition."
"Sir, I've been inside the apartment. There were no signs of a struggle, and the door was locked. The evidence suggests he chose to leave, not that he was taken."
The silence at Juliano's end of the phone indicated he was either thinking or he was furious. Morgan feared that perhaps it was both.
Morgan's nerves couldn't stand the buzzing silence any longer and she spoke up. "Sir if I go now, it is possible he is not far away. If he's close then I might be able to sense him."
"No Morgan, stay where you are. I am sending a team to you and I want you to wait for them. I need to contact someone, but I will await your call when the team arrives. By then we should have a clearer picture of the situation."
Her jaw clenched hard. "Sir if we wait –"
"You will wait for the team, Agent," Juliano interrupted firmly. "Inform me when they arrive."
She wanted to sigh petulantly but didn't dare. "Yes Father," she said obediently, and heard the click of Juliano hanging up. Now she did allow her held breath to release in a rush, pushing her disheveled hair from her face with irritation.
The agent she had grabbed by the collar had not gone out to the street as instructed, but instead had sprinted up the stairs to the apartment to confirm Amon's absence with his own eyes. Now he returned, holding Morgan's discarded shoes in his hands. "Are these yours?" he asked.
Morgan snatched them from the agent and looked down at the loathsome heels. Distraction became thoughtful, then focused. She dropped the shoes and slid her feet into them. "Agent, there is a team arriving soon. When they get here I want you to inform them of the situation."
"Where are you going?"
She headed for the door. "To find Amon."
Juliano pressed his palms flat against the desktop and closed his eyes. Control and calm, he needed both right now but both were eluding him. He took a deep breath and took his time letting it out.
He didn't believe Amon had left. It wasn't that he couldn't believe it of the young, headstrong Hunter, but rather that his fears dictated otherwise. There was another person interested in Amon's whereabouts and information, and it could be the person in question was sending Juliano a message. Or staging a coup.
Juliano reached for the phone and dialed swiftly. It was a private line and he didn't bother introducing himself. "We need to talk," he stated in lieu of a greeting.
"Good evening Father," a man's cultured voice replied serenely as though admonishing Juliano for his abruptness. "I was hoping we would speak soon."
"I think you know why I'm calling," Juliano said through gritted teeth, ordering his tone to be calm and unconcerned.
He could almost hear the smile in the other man's voice as he replied, "I anticipate it is to discuss the offer I made you."
"No." Juliano hesitated for a split second, trying to form the statement in a manner that would give little away. "I would like to talk about Amon's whereabouts."
"Amon?" The voice lingered over it as though tasting it for the first time. "That would be the surly young Hunter from Japan, would it not?"
Juliano resisted the urge to beat the phone receiver against his desk. "Yes, the Hunter your team brought back from Tokyo. The one your team shot."
"Ah." A pause. "I was wondering about his whereabouts myself, Father. Funniest thing – it seems that while my team brought him here for questioning, you intervened and took him into your custody, voiding my jurisdiction in the matter." The voice showed every inflection of affability, but Juliano wasn't fooled. There was ice under those words, and a threat.
"My reason for calling," Juliano explained with calmness he didn't feel, "is that this evening the Hunter in question was taken from my custody. I would like to know where he is."
"Hmmm, that is troubling," came the reply with a mock seriousness that only belied the glee the man was feeling. "Who would dare usurp your authority in such a manner?"
Juliano glowered. "Who indeed." The pause assured the Master Hunter that the point was taken.
"Well Father, you can rest assured that I will deploy my strike team immediately and give you all assistance in finding your Hunter. After all, cooperation between our departments is crucial, don't you agree?"
This was subterfuge and they both knew it. Juliano, however, was forced to play along. "My thanks. I would like to meet with you as well."
"Concerning this matter or our earlier conversation?"
"I consider them linked," Juliano clarified. "I suspect we will speak of many things."
"Very well." The voice was thoughtful now. "Is tomorrow afternoon too late? I'm afraid I have obligations this evening, and I preside over Mass in the morning."
Juliano wanted to reach through the phone and throttle the smug expression right off the man's face. He could hear it in his voice, almost smell the satisfaction of having the Premier Master Hunter of Solomon backed into a corner. He wanted to order the Inquisitor to a meeting by right of his superior authority. He knew that in this case he could do none of those things.
"Very well Koushon," Juliano replied with an internal sigh. "Tomorrow then." He replaced the receiver slowly and allowed his head to fall forward into his hands.
The setting sun had taken all the warmth of the day with it, and Amon shoved his chilled fingers into his pockets as he walked. He was navigating in circles, backtracking and weaving, looking to see if he was being followed. And he was, every instinct confirmed it. He didn't dare look over his shoulder to try and spot his pursuer – not yet anyway - if he made eye contact the game would accelerate and Amon didn't want to risk the innocent bystanders enjoying Rome's nightlife. Instead he threaded amongst them, trying to blend into his surroundings and confuse his unwelcome tail.
As he rounded a corner onto yet another street he glanced from the corner of his eye. Blond hair, black coat, about ten yards behind him.
Amon put on a burst of speed while in the man's blind spot and ducked into a small restaurant. The maitre de tried to stop him, but was waved on when Amon hurriedly indicated that he was seeking the payphone. However when he reached it he kept going, slipping through the kitchen door and passing confused cooks and waiters, several of whom loudly indicated to him that patrons were not allowed in back. Past the dishwashing station he hurried, through the storeroom and out the back delivery door into an alley lit only by a single naked bulb above the door he had just used. He moved out of the yellow pool of light and immersed himself into the shadows, turning up the collar of his black jacket to mask the white skin of his face.
He waited, scarcely breathing, every nerve and every sense reaching out into the night for signs of pursuit. His breath escaped as small puffs of steam in the rapidly cooling air, and the chill was descending into his shoulder wound with an ache that tingled into his clenched fingers.
It should have worked. But then, Amon decided, it was no average Hunter following him. As he stood motionless in the alley's darkness, the tall, blond haired man passed on the sidewalk at the end of the alley. Nearly passed. Just as he was about to move out of sight he stopped mid-stride, the pale head cocked to one side. He stood that way for several interminable moments. And then slowly his head turned and Amon felt the icy winter eyes lock onto his dark form. The pale Hunter's colorless lips curled into a sardonic smile, a motion that implied more hurt than humor. And then he stepped from the light of the street into the dark twilight of the alley.
Amon felt the unpleasant shock of recognition, knew the approaching man even before he called out, "Glad to see you're feeling better, Amon."
Without an answer, Amon pushed away from the wall he'd been standing beside and strode to the center of the narrow passageway.
Now the two Hunters stood face to face, only several insignificant yards separating them. "Ivan Grieg," Amon hissed, hopelessly wishing he had some sort of weapon, anything other than his bare hands.
The other man's grin widened and he nodded. "I see you remember me," Ivan said lightly, crossing his arms and shifting his weight casually to one leg. "That's good. I'd be hurt if you didn't."
"I remember you threatening me," Amon growled, all the while feeling as though he had just swallowed a very large rock. Trouble, Amon's instincts were shouting at him, I'm in serious trouble.
Ivan's casual pose dissolved and his eyes glinted cold fire. "And I made good on it, didn't I?"
It took a couple of moments, but the realization, when he came to it, doubled the feeling of considerable danger. "You're the one who shot me." He stated it, already sure of the answer.
Ivan nodded and took a threatening step forward. "I make good on my threats, chum, and when you purposefully bungled the second Hunt for your partner I gave you fair warning on how we deal with traitors."
"And yet here I am," Amon declared, going on the offensive. He shook his head with mock disappointment. "Your aim's for shit, Grieg."
Ivan bristled at the remark, but didn't take the bait entirely. "It's true, a gun is not my first choice of weapon." Amon noticed him flex and straighten his fingers.
Amon redirected before Ivan could continue that train of thought. He had heard of Grieg's Craft, and knew there was no protecting himself if the Hunter chose to use it. "So is that why we're standing here?" Amon called out. "Because I stopped you and your team from Hunting Robin?"
"No Amon, we're standing here because you're a bigger fool than you look." Ivan laughed at his own private joke while Amon sought for disciplined calm, utter detachment.
"I was a fool to participate in your Hunt at all," Amon agreed, drying up Grieg's mirth.
"No, you're a fool because you just walked out on the only person powerful enough to save you." Ivan took another step forward. "You should have stayed in Juliano's custody, Amon," he admonished in a mocking stage whisper. "He'd have been much nicer to you than my boss will be."
Now Amon felt the world drop out from under him and return again in a brief second. Father Juliano had been protecting him from Inquisitor Koushon. His brain put the pieces together with merciless speed. Koushon's team, the group responsible for the assaults on Robin and the attack on the STNJ had taken custody of him after taking control of Tokyo headquarters. They brought him back here to put him under the Inquisition, probably trial for sedition, failure to follow orders, and God knew what else. Juliano had stepped in on his behalf and was shielding him from punishment.
Amon could scarcely hold his mask of detachment in place. His heart roared in his ears. His indignation at lack of answers and his self-assurance in his limited understanding of the situation had led him to abandon his only ally on the whole damned continent. God, he really was a fool.
Still, if Amon had any hope of making it out of this refuse-strewn alley, Ivan needed to be distracted, if even for a moment. "Inquisitor Koushon has no authority in this matter," Amon stated with imaginary confidence. "I'm not a witch. I report to Juliano no matter what the circumstances, being as how I am a Hunter."
Ivan grinned. "Amon, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and simply assume you're playing dumb as opposed to embodying it. We both know that witch inquiry is only a small part of the Department of Inquisition's duties."
Amon nodded in agreement. "Sure, the larger part is wreaking general havoc like brain dead thugs." In truth Amon was perfectly aware of the various duties of Inquisition, it's chief concern being the internal investigative force of Solomon.
The grimace on Ivan's face told Amon his jab had hit a nerve. "I could trade insults with you all night, chum, but I have orders from Koushon." He took another step, closing the distance between the two Hunters. "You're coming with me."
Amon stood his ground, planting his feet and taking his hands from his pockets. "I don't think so."
Ivan was not the easily intimidated sort, and he seemed amused at Amon's stand of defiance. "Oh I think you are," he replied, flexing his fingers again. "I don't think you had a chance to see my Craft in Japan." His look had morphed from mirth to menace. "Perhaps I should show you now."
Grieg lifted his left fist and Amon saw what seemed like static electricity shimmer between his closed fingers before Ivan released a wave of energy at the bulb shining on Amon's right. It shone with searing brightness for an instant before imploding with a pop and tinkling glass spray.
So he had heard right. Grieg was, in fact, one of the few Agents in Solomon with this unique ability. Electrokinesis – the ability to produce and control electricity. Amon didn't even flinch at this display, but his mind was racing wildly, trying to discern any possible way to fight this Craft user.
And then everything stilled within him, the honed discipline of a Hunter taking over completely. He didn't have to fight Grieg. He just had to distract and disarm him long enough to get past him. Once on the street, Ivan wouldn't dare use his Craft with all the spectators present, thus evening the playing field.
Amon clapped and bowed, and caught a glimpse of Ivan's fury through the deepened gloom. "Congratulations," Amon taunted with the air of mock amazement. "You broke a bulb. Do you take requests? Can you do fireworks?"
He could feel the rage emanating from the pale Hunter. "You want fireworks?" Grieg spat, clasping his hands together before him. "How about this?"
And with that he turned toward the only outlet of the alley and extended both his hands, issuing a sizzling surge of power that smelt of ozone. The transformer on the street lamp nearest them exploded with a thunderclap, raining down sparks and sending fire sizzling down the electrical lines attached to it.
Morgan was hurrying as fast as her damned shoes would allow, keeping her head down to avoid the distraction of so many emitting minds around her. She was looking for a particular presence, never easy under these circumstances, hindered even more by the tight control Amon kept on his conscious thoughts.
She felt the tang of fear, but couldn't be certain if it was her own or someone else's.
Without looking where she was going, Morgan soon felt completely turned around. She didn't dare distract herself with sight, however, only wishing harder that she could navigate the uneven pavement with her eyes fully closed. Or a giant antenna strapped to the top of her head that would tune her into Amon's brain. That would be nice too.
Suddenly the breath burst painfully from her lungs and she staggered to one side, one hand clutching her pounding forehead. Male arms encircled her and kept her on her feet, which she brushed away with her free hand.
"Hey, a thank you is nicer, pretty lady!" the man's voice called drunkenly after her, but she paid no notice. The pain had passed, and she rushed blindly forward. A psychic burst had nearly knocked her down and she didn't intend to lose the trail now. It was leading her forward, around the corner, forward again.
Without warning the vice gripped her head again and she stopped cold. Words were echoing through her mind, and panic. Trouble, I'm in serious trouble.
"Amon," she realized aloud, cupping her face in her hands to block out any distractions. "Keep talking," she breathed, "keep talking."
For a moment there was nothing but confusion and she thought she had lost the connection, but then a thought emerged that made the hairs rise on her arms. You're the one who shot me.
"Son of a bitch!" Morgan choked, dropping her hands and rushing forward again. The connection was solid now; she sensed Amon's nearing presence like a beacon of white light. She had to get to him. She knew where he was, and knew now who he was with.
I can't fight him, the ominous echo played in Morgan's mind as she hurried. His Craft…I helped her… Robin. The last was said loudly and Morgan winced, accompanied by the brief flash of a recognized face with jewel green eyes. This was visual telekinesis, and Morgan knew she was close.
I'm a fool… Koushon… Juliano…I can't believe I did that, the words continued. "Nearly there," Morgan gasped, well beyond cursing her stupid shoes. "Hang on Amon."
Suddenly the connection died and with it her forward momentum. "Oh shit," she hissed, casting out wildly with her mind, trying to catch any hint at all of Amon's broadcasted thoughts.
But a terrific explosion erupted not even twenty feet from where she was standing, sending fire snaking down the electrical lines overhead and plunging an entire city block into darkness. Bystanders cried out in shock and alarm but Morgan drew her gun instead.
The alley went dead dark and Amon made his move. Arrogantly, Ivan had turned his back to him to perform this display of power, and his mind was engaged in the undertaking. On silent feet Amon closed the distance and Ivan turned back just in time to receive the heel of Amon's hand into the bridge of his nose. A loud crack issued forth and Ivan screamed as black blood erupted from his face. Amon followed this up with a sweeping kick to the shins, bringing Ivan down hard on the concrete and positioning him just right for the roundhouse Amon administered to the back of Ivan's head, sending him down on his already broken nose.
Taking no time to admire his hand to hand skills, Amon took off down the alley, knowing that if he was conscious Grieg was probably already peeling himself off the pavement.
He had just cleared the opening to the street and was turning left when he heard a woman's voice shout, "Amon! Stop!"
Amon swung around directly into the barrel of a gun. Morgan's tall silhouette was recognizable even in the almost complete darkness. "No," Amon groaned, "Morgan, get out of here. Run."
"Amon, where is he?" Morgan shouted. "Where is Grieg?"
"Damnit Morgan, run!" Amon wanted to take his own suggestion, but wasn't about to leave her in the path of a very pissed off electrokinetic. He reached out his hand. "Come on!"
But another hand clasped her instead, from behind her as it snaked around her throat. Another clamped her around her waist as Ivan's mangled face came into view over her shoulder. "Embarrassing yourself as always, Morgan," he taunted in a voice thick with his own blood. "Some telepath you are, can't even tell when a person's sneaking up on you."
Amon felt all hope draining away. Ivan had Morgan in a chokehold tight against his own body and had disarmed her easily. Even in darkness he could see Ivan's triumphant smile.
"Let her go," Amon warned, "she's not the one you're after."
"Maybe not," Ivan agreed, "but I can still have a little fun, can't I?" He released the arm from her waist and turned his hand palm up before her abdomen, webbing his fingers in snaking blue electric currents that snapped evilly. The light emitted illuminated Morgan's terrified expression as she clawed at the forearm choking her.
She managed to pry it lose just long enough to scream, "Amon, he can't kill you! He has orders not to hurt you! Run!" She shrieked the last word as Ivan connected his electrically charged hand directly to her bare thigh, and the shriek became a sob of pain.
"I might be under orders not to hurt you," Ivan called to Amon, "but there's nothing stopping me from killing her." He paused just long enough for Amon to think this over, the silence punctuated by Morgan's choked sobbing. "You run now and she dies. Right here. Right now."
"No Amon, go. Please go," Morgan rasped between painful breaths.
Amon was nailed to the ground, unable to force a breath into his lungs. The urge to run was still coursing in his legs and pounding in his ears, but his eyes were glued to Morgan's. Brown eyes… green eyes, looking up at him with trust and respect as he led her into the warehouse where the imagined witch was supposedly hiding. He was escorting her to her execution and yet she could look at him in such a way… He could scarcely make his mouth form the necessary words, his throat was so tight with carefully suppressed despair. It was breaking him, he felt the splinters, he was betraying her, sending her to death and she looked at him with those eyes. He knew, even as he beckoned Robin inside, those eyes would haunt him until the day he died.
No. Not again. Never again. Amon let his breath out slowly, painfully. "Don't hurt her," he said, locking Ivan's gaze in his own. "I'll come with you. Just let her go."
Bright lights washed over the three of them briefly as a car raced down the street and screamed to a halt beside them.
"I'm glad to see you haven't lost your 'Knight in Shining Armor' complex," Ivan mocked him as he gestured to the open back door. "After you."
But even as Amon approached the car, a man exited the passenger door and took Morgan from Ivan, dragging her forward and forcing her unceremoniously into the back seat.
Amon turned on Ivan. "That wasn't the agreement," he growled menacingly.
Ivan backed him toward the car. "I agreed to nothing," he pointed out, using his sleeve to mop up the blood still spilling from his nose. "And she's still alive. And you agreed to come with me. So get in."
Every muscle twitched to finish the job he had started on Ivan, but Amon was outnumbered and trapped. Momentarily without options, Amon slid into the car and the door slammed shut behind him.
Author's Note: Please indulge me while I take a moment to thank all the wonderful folks who've reviewed the story so far!
Jaunt: All I can say is thank you! It makes me so happy that you like it, you make me blush! And I absolutely agree with your assessment of Morgan. She pretty much wrote herself, and I love her for it. Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.
Sparky 16: I just love Amon's antics, and I love finding new and unusual ways for him to get into and out of trouble. It's a safe bet that he will continue to amuse us. Thanks for continuing to read the story, and thanks for the great reviews!
Tiramisu of Impending Doom: First of all, I love your name! Second, I agree that most people do a post series story. I'm tempted to myself, but I figure there are too many good ones out there to justify my feeble attempt. So instead I get to play with the various misadventures of Amon! I join you in your glomping. We love Amon.
Tsukikage Arashi: Yeah, that line really was the motivating subtext behind that whole chapter for me and I'm glad you liked it. Thank you!
Angel 452: Patience, patience. I know I'm long winded but I swear to you we will get to the hunting of Robin. All questions will be answered by the end (though God only knows when that will be :-). Thank you for the review!
Moonlit Eclipses: You flatter me (blush)! I'm glad you're willing to give my little story a try. Thank you for reviewing.