Chapter 92: Find the Formula

Tuesday January 4th, 2022. Salem, New York.

Sleep was a beautiful thing when you weren't being plagued by nightmares of your past. Or pressed by literal gods. Or fighting some future primal version of yourself in a weird stormy hellscape.

Brontë slept through the entire day. Vampire hunting left him as a night owl as of late. But when he finally got up and out of his apartment the sun was up. The sky was blue. The trains were back to their usual carrying limit and the streets were full of music and madness.

New York wouldn't stay down long, he knew that for sure.

Even if hundreds of families across the nation had relatives holed up in government guarded hospitals battling the newest widespread disease. Vampirism.

He wouldn't forget it even if he tried.

Daken was always on his mind.

As he jogged through Salem's alleys, stylized art of the creatures jumped out at him with stylized blood red eyes and white fangs.

When he reached The Abbey, the thought was still on his mind but now shared the space with more recent events.

Ilyana.

The massive magical building waited for him atop a cliff of lush green grass. Memories of her face from the previous night made him hesitate to enter if only for a moment.

There were obviously bigger fish to fry.

He was inside in a flash, silently shutting the door behind himself as he looked around the dark walkway. He could smell when and where everyone came in and at what time. Their scent trails were distinct.

The smell of fire and sulfur.

Wet dog.

Subtle hints of Vampire.

Expensive cologne and blood.

Vanilla perfume and…. Hell.

He hung his jacket up on the hanger to the left of the door and fully entered The Abbey.

The livingroom welcomed him in a rising tide of familiar smells and faces.

Waffles and pizza.

A boy no older than Gabbie in a wheelchair sat beside the couch watching tv. William sat right next to him, scarfing down three pepperoni pizzas and two eggo waffles.

The boy was Robbie's younger brother. That much was obvious from their matching skin tone and facial shape. When Bronte lost his cool interrogating the Vampire he was the first to see it.

Naturally, the boy audibly swallowed. "T-They're uhh… waiting for you downstairs."

"Got it." Bronte nodded before stopping misstep, "By the way, my bad… about before."

Gabe smiled awkwardly, "That's ok…. Robbie says you have a lot on your plate. The guy in white says your plate is already broken."

Brontë laughed, "You look like you got some responsibilities too, how is he?"

Gabe shrugged, "He really like SpongeBob…. And waffles. I thought he ate cat food but when I brought that out he started crying. He's good now. So we're good."

"Heard you." Bronte missed his younger siblings the more Gabe spoke.

Even if he'd just spoken to Junior less than two days ago. He missed a lot of time.

"Well, I'm gonna head downstairs. I'll see you around, Gabe."

Brontë and the boy shook up before he quickly headed deeper into the mansion.

In no time he was jogging down the musty black steps into a mustier, darker, basement. The sound of his boots on the steps echoed like rocks thrown into a cave.

He could hear casual conversations slowly fade as they picked up on his entrance.

"Bout time." Blade greeted him first as he entered the large basement.

"I didn't know I had a time, my fault." Bronte replied. He found himself looking at Ilyana's backside. She was the only person with her back to the stairs. Purposeful. Ouch.

"We didn't, but Blade dislikes suspense. Which is weird for a pessimist. It's not like you're expecting any good information." Mr Knight said from beside him, leaning against the wall casually. His white suit was as spotless as usual.

"All information is good information." Blade said. "Ain't that right, Jack?"

Jack nodded, "I uhh… I think so."

"Lapdog." Mr Knight retorted.

"How about I attack your lap in our next raid?" He looked hungover in his black turtle neck and green cargo pants.

"I don't swing that way, actually."

Robbie choked on his own air and laughed.

Blade patted Jack's back, "Ahhhh banter is not for you, buddy. Not yet. Now…"

Blade pointed at Bronte and Ilyana.

"I heard y'all had quite an interesting date night." He looked at them from above his shades.

Brontë audibly sighed. Ilyana's cold disposition remained. The awkwardness was thicker than fog as it hung in the air around them.

"I think that means it was less interesting and more… bad." Mr Knight concluded.

"Can we please be serious?" Ilyana said.

"That's not really our style…. I don't think—" Robbie trailed off as Ilyana stared at him. "Lo siento. The floor is yours."

"We need to find The Darkhold." She said flatly.

"Ohhhhh I told you, Jack. That's damn good." Blade clapped and let out a villainous breathy laugh.

"What an opening." Mr Knight added. "If I remember correctly from my own studies of the Arcane under Khonshu, The Darkhold is the evil magic book of all evil magic books. It's got hundreds upon hundreds of complex spells created and mastered by some elder god."

"Cthon." Bronte said.

Everyone looked at him except Ilyana.

"That's the Elder gods name. And we don't need the whole Darkhold. We need an excerpt from it."

"Go on."

"It's called the Montesi Formula." Ilyana stated flatly, "It's how we remove the magic of Vampirism from the earthly plain entirely. It's how we fix all this."

"And take down Daken." Bronte added.

"That sounds like some heavy stuff." Blade thought aloud.

"Bronte and myself are both wielders of powerful Magic but our first hope is getting the formula to Doctor Strange." Ilyana explained.

"Is this Darkhold easy to get…? It sounds like it would be heavily guarded." Jack questioned as he rubbed his arms like he was cold.

"It is. But there are multiple renditions." Ilyana said.

"Like the Bible?" Robbie commented.

"Like the Bible." Ilyana confirmed, "Followers of Cthon have spread his teachings in copy Darkholds but with those comes inaccuracy and a chance of failure."

"Right." Blade nodded as he stroked his mustache.

"The original is holed up in Mount Wundagore. Cthon has his own temple there full of chaos magic and all things evil."

"We're going to raid it." Bronte said.

Jack sighed, "I remember when we were just Vampire hunters."

"What are you talking about, do you know where Mount Wundagore is?" Blade questioned.

"Do you?" Robbie questioned in return.

"It's in Transylvania. This is the top of line for Vampire hunting, fellas." Blade looked both pleased and relaxed. Which made no sense.

"Sounds dangerous." Mr Knight said, "What else should we know before we start building a plan."

"Any contacts or resources?" Blade questioned, "My contact with the WereWolves doesn't go as far as Transylvania but I could reach out. I hear they're pretty territorial over there."

"I know Scarlet Witch." Bronte said.

Everyone looked at him as if he just said the sky was purple on Wednesdays.

"She's friends with my— anyway. She's used Chaos Magic. I bet she knows about the Darkhold. I can reach out."

"That sounds good. Real good. You do that." Blade said. "What else people, think."

"There's another book to counter the effects of The Darkhold. But it's whereabouts are unknown. Wong agreed to search for it in our stead but that could take…. Years. It would be safer if we had it on our travels." Ilyana announced.

That was news to Bronte.

Mr Knight didn't speak. Brontë knew why.

"That's up to you two." Blade said to Ilyana and Brontë.

She cast a quick glance in his direction.

"No." Bronte said, "We don't have that type of time. What about blood shortages? Those hospitals could turn into warzones again in months. My sisters trying to go to Krakoa. We got rogue Sorcerers and bounty hunters getting radicalized by Anti-Mutant hate groups every time I step outside we don't have time. We can't wait for Daken to try anything else. This is a race and we're already behind. I'm not letting us get lapped."

They all digested his words in silence.

In all honesty Bronte wasn't there to discuss the matter. If they chose to wait he'd go to Mount Wundagore by himself. He's fought gods before….. killing them was a different story, but he was a different man since Bast.

"Ok." Ilyana nodded.

Brontë wasn't sure who she was speaking to.

"Let's start building a plan."

"To the pool table!" Robbie jogged upstairs as the others followed.

Brontë hung back to walk beside Ilyana. She was as close to her old self as he could remember. Maybe even more closed off if that was possible.

"Hey…" Bronte said to her as they climbed the steps. "Can we talk… about last night?"

Ilyana kept it brief, "We're working, Bronte. There's nothing to say about last night."

She quickened her pace.

"And I'm not handicapped." Bronte thought sarcastically.

"Not right now you're not." Mend said in his mind.

"You know what I meant."

***

For the next two hours the Midnight Suns went over plans. They spoke over layouts upon blueprints upon topographical maps sprawled across the pool table. Every now and then, Mr Knights whole demeanor and outfit would change leaving MoonKnight to go check on William while Bronte checked on Ilyana. He'd find her staring sometimes. Mean mugging more or less. Not really a good sign but better than nothing.

All the while they forged something formidable. Desired weapons, contacts, routes and means of travel. Blade said they'd mull it over a thousand more times. Then a hundred more times. Then ten more times on the way there. And then once again when the goings got tough. And if we found a mistake in the plan by then we'd be dead.

Pep talk of the year.

The sun was beginning to set by the time everyone began to stop talking and the smell of cigar smoke started to nauseate Bronte.

"Ok. I think that covers it for today. I'll go over everything myself a few times. You guys go on with whatever lives you have. Report back tomorrow. If we follow this current timeline we'll be in Eastern Europe by next week. Pack your bags. Call off work…. Say you're on vacation."

"Funny." MoonKnight commented before getting up and heading to the livingroom.

Everyone else left soon after.

Robbie joined his brother for pizza. Jack went to his room upstairs. Ilyana headed downstairs.

Brontë remained at the pool table with Blade.

It didn't take long for them to begin hearing strikes on a punching bag below.

Blade looked up at Bronte.

"Breaking hearts runs in the family I guess…"

"Something like that." Bronte mumbled as he traced the roadways on the Eastern European maps placed in front of him.

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know. It ain't that bad…. I mean it wasn't for me. But then I think about her face….. and I think it got serious. I feel wrong."

"I think that means it's serious to you too. It just snuck up on you." Blade took a long drag of the cigar, "Puppy love…" He exhaled with a laugh.

Brontë didn't say anything in reply.

Blade took off his glasses and looked at him plainly with his blood red eyes, "Well what are you still sitting here for? Go talk to her!"

"Oh—" Bronte got up out of his seat and headed downstairs.

He found Ilyana wailing away at a punching bag on the left most side of the basement. Facing the opposite wall that held the art depicting the epic battle between The Midnight Suns and Varkis.

He walked over to her and held the punching bag.

"I'm ok with training alone." Ilyana said before delivering a jab to the bag that almost sent it into his face.

"And I'm ok with talking after work." Bronte said in response to her previous curve.

"Bronte—"

"It snuck up on me, ok?" Bronte blurted out.

"What?" Ilyana's bangs stuck to her forehead where the sweat collected. The rest of her hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail. He could see every detail of her ears. She was one of the people who had an earlobe which gave her room for more piercings. Something he was in favor of.

"Whatever this is…" Bronte referred to them both. "I— I don't know. I didn't think it would get like this between us. I thought you forgot about me. Then I saw you again. And you were looking at me exactly how I was looking at you. You heard me out. You walked with me. We laughed. And then I started to want to walk with you more…. See you laugh, hear you try and make me laugh. Your comedy is ass I'm not gonna lie….. but I love it."

Ilyana stopped punching the bag.

"Then you came over. And saw what you saw—"

Ilyana punched the bag into Bronte's stomach.

"Listen— I've been on the road a long time. I've never been in a relationship. There was no time. I couldn't get people hurt like that."

"So you sleep around." Ilyana concluded.

"Occasionally. I was in a dark place for a while. Is that surprising? Have you never—"

"No. I have not. Men aren't attracted to women with horns… even if they say they are on the internet." Ilyana shot back, "And no, it's not surprising that women would want to lay with you. You are strong… and kind…. And you have very nice eyebrows..."

She trailed off awkwardly before starting again, "I shouldn't be so angry. But you…. You invited me in. You told me to come in. That's never happened….. and then you just—"

"I know." Bronte nodded, "That was dead wrong. But also from another time. That house has been full of nothing but dogs since I met you.. again."

"You are a dog." Ilyana let off a one-two combo on the bag, pushing into Bronte. If he didn't have a metal skeleton and the physique of a lifetime lifter he would've moved.

"You don't believe that."

Ilyana stopped punching the bag and stood up straight, sighing as she looked at the ceiling. Just as he had when she left.

"Why am I feeling these things?"

"Because it snuck up on you too."

Ilyana looked at Bronte. Her chest rose and fell, stretching the fibers of her black long sleeve workout shirt. Even though there was barely any light in the basement he could make out her chocolate brown eyes like they were glowing. Like they were casting light on her glossed black lips and faintest hints of freckles along her nose like cinnamon sprinkles. "Bronte, what is … it?"

Brontë thought on it for a while before replying.

"That's for us to figure out together… when the world isn't on the verge of ending. Until then my windows are closed and my doors locked. Unless you knock."

Brontë held his hand out.

Ilyana huffed an exhale, "This sounds good." Her accent was thicker for the moment.

They shook hands…. And stayed that way for a while longer than normal.

"You ever been to Europe?"

"Bronte…. I'm from Russia."

"...Riiight. Let me show you around anyway."

"I'd like that."