Chapter 132: Finding Clues

The mage opened his eyes, momentarily disoriented, unsure of his location. After a few seconds, he recalled the events of the past two days. Although his head still ached, he was now capable of casting spells again, and he had a fair idea of what was happening. The next step was to locate the mastermind behind it all and banish Him from this world. Solomon reached into his dimensional pouch, retrieved a potion, drank it, then got up to call for hot water. He hadn't bathed in two days, and although the inn's facilities were basic, money had a way of securing the necessary services.

While he was soaking in the warmth of the wooden tub on the chilly morning, Natasha entered, dressed in the local attire. "All done?" Solomon raised an eyebrow. "How's Tituba?"

Looking exhausted, Natasha yawned and blinked a few times. "I stayed with her all night," she said. "She woke up once, and the potion you gave her worked well—she's sleeping again now. Coulson thinks we should hide her here, so he extended the room for another month. Your gold came in handy; it's still valued here. Move over a bit; I'm coming in. Also, do you have any way to wash clothes? I'm down to one set of underwear."

"I can dry them with magic. Hand them to my invisible servant," Solomon replied. "And the water temperature can be kept constant—that's just a minor spell."

"Though it's quite something to an ordinary person," Natasha said with a shrug, slipping off her mud-stained local clothes and shoes without concern for the mage's gaze. She stepped into the tub and leaned back, sighing with relief. The past two days had been grueling, with her sleep time sacrificed to the mission.

"Not bad, huh?" she smirked as she glanced at the water's surface, noticing his reaction. "Your face says it all."

"I didn't expect you to be so forward," Solomon rolled his eyes. "I'm underage, you know. No need to try the Black Widow tricks on me; I'm not falling for it. Ms. Romanoff, I respect you—your dedication. So if there's something you want, just ask. You don't need to go through all this."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, giving Solomon a playful look. "You've got good self-control for a man your age, especially with hormones running high. How do you manage it? Or is that just your idea of gentlemanly behavior?"

"This has nothing to do with being a gentleman; it's self-discipline," he said, tossing a towel to cover Natasha's modesty. "Magic requires restraining one's desires. I've gotten good at it—well, except for my thirst for knowledge. But your black stockings are spot-on for my taste. Satisfied? You can rest here. I'm going to scout the town with Agent Coulson. Honestly, his plan wasn't well thought out. Taking down the witch-hunter would have been more effective. I'm leaving you my gun—lock the door behind me. I'll summon a magical servant to assist you while I'm gone."

Natasha extended her leg, pressing it against Solomon's chest to keep him from leaving. "Coulson is still asleep; we have a bit of time," she said. "He helped a lot last night. Foreigners prying into town business are already drawing attention. Besides, there aren't many ships docking at the small harbor here, so not many outsiders are coming in. I suggest you and Coulson check out the tavern. I can already imagine those fools bragging about their bravery in capturing a 'witch.'"

"If they discover she's missing, they'll likely claim they 'foresaw' it, further fueling their fanaticism. I plan to go to the forest, the suspicious clearing we found before. I have a feeling…last night, the town's witches gathered there for a ritual. That strange magic in the forest must be their doing." Solomon grabbed Natasha's foot and tried to push it away, but the agent only held her ground, dipping her leg back into the water. He grabbed her firmly. "Enough. I need to get going."

"Running away, mage?" Natasha teased with a smile. "I didn't peg you as the shy type."

"If you keep this up, you might have to deal with another lady in my life," Solomon shrugged. "I'm her guardian, and she's a demon witch."

"Oh, a witch?" Natasha chuckled. "Do witches hold a special appeal for mages?"

"No, it's just…her legs are longer than yours."

---

"I haven't had a proper conversation with you yet," Coulson remarked, stifling a yawn as they walked down the street. "Since meeting the Asgardian back in New Mexico, this is the first time I've seen you. How did you meet Director Fury?"

"I broke into his office and introduced him to the terrifying world of magic," Solomon replied, walking alongside Coulson. "Don't bother looking me up in the files. Fury likely buried that secret deep, just like how he lost one eye."

"You know about that?" Coulson was surprised. "Did Director Fury tell you?"

"The Skrulls. I know; you know too," Solomon replied. "But he probably hasn't told you the full story."

"Aliens?"

"Think of it that way. He won't tell you the truth." Solomon pulled out a few guineas and half-pound coins he had exchanged for his gold. "This should be enough for a day's worth of drinks," he said. "If possible, bring me back a bottle of rum, or wine; I don't mind. Once you're back, ask Fury for some Asgardian mead—that's something I brought over."

"But you're underage," Coulson objected, shaking his head. "Legally…"

"The USA isn't independent yet," Solomon quipped, pressing the coins into Coulson's hand. "I need you to see if there's anything strange going on in town. Monsters have been seen in the forest, yet no one in town has noticed. That's strange."

"I know. I saw the creature myself," Coulson replied, lowering his voice. "But those girls thought it was a wild dog. I'm also going to visit Randolph Carter's house, remember? I still have a tale of adventure to tell him."

"I already know Carter's true identity," Solomon muttered, rubbing his forehead. "But keeping an eye on Abigail Williams isn't a bad idea. Remember, don't dig too deeply into certain matters. You don't have anything to protect your mind."

"Ever since discovering magic…" Coulson glanced around before whispering, "I feel like I no longer understand this world."

"The world is far stranger than you think, Agent Coulson." Solomon shook his head with slight disdain. "S.H.I.E.L.D. claims to be the first line of defense against the supernatural, but the truth is, this world is far stranger than humans realize. Don't dwell on it. Many things are beyond our understanding, and trying to grasp them only leads to madness."

"Thanks for the advice." Coulson flashed him a thumbs-up. "See you tonight. When you're back, I'll tell you about my days with a mustache."

---

Two wooden staves lay in the dark forest clearing. Solomon examined these unfamiliar objects; one end was scorched, and powder dusted the other, leaving a faint imprint of a hand. He suspected this was Randolph Carter's handiwork. Legend had it that Carter once foiled that entity's scheme, and this time, the hidden figure was even more elusive, likely summoned through the witches' gathering. The eerie atmosphere in the forest confirmed that this was the scene of the incident. Aside from the occasional ghoul sighting, the forest's crows sang ominous tunes. Solomon followed fresh tracks and spotted a face embedded in the trunk of a tree—a young Algonquin man's face, eyes wide, staring blankly into the void.

Cautiously, Solomon reached out and touched it. The face was warm, flesh and blood, once belonging to an actual person, now fused with the tree. His pulse quickened, and he heard whispers again. Shaking his head, he dismissed the uninvited voices.

Continuing forward, he came upon a pile of burned charcoal. Perhaps he'd arrived early; the coals hadn't yet burned down to white ash, and blue-gray smoke wafted from the smoldering embers. Besides the coals, he saw partially burned wood. He could infer from the remnants how large the bonfire had been. Nearby, there were two clusters of dead maggots. Resisting a wave of nausea, Solomon bent down to sniff and detected a sharp, sour scent.

It was stomach acid.

This had been another witches' gathering, likely accompanied by some dark ritual. Solomon concluded as much.

Following the fresh, heavy footprints to the forest's northern edge, he emerged and gazed into the distance, finally spotting his clue.

There, on the horizon, was a private farm.

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