Though the mission assigned by the Grandmaster was urgent and steeped in danger, there was no directive for Solomon to rush. According to the Grandmaster, Solomon needed to wait for destiny to align in just the right way before he could proceed. Until then, he had to prepare meticulously, like an actor in a play who must wait in costume backstage for the perfect moment to step into the spotlight.
Additionally, the Grandmaster required that Solomon undertake this mission alone. Given the cryptic instructions and the Grandmaster's uncharacteristically stern demeanor, Solomon felt a deep unease. As he looked at the Eye of Agamotto glinting with an emerald glow, he sensed something hidden and ominous. But when he tried to ask more, the Grandmaster broke from his usual approach and remained tight-lipped. He only mentioned that Solomon could use any of Kamar-Taj's artifacts during the mission.
With that, the Grandmaster returned to the meditation room, seeing no one else.
What the Grandmaster couldn't reveal to Solomon was that the order had come from the supreme being of eternity. It was an exceedingly rare occurrence, as this being—the embodiment of time and space itself—seldom involved itself in specific events. The Grandmaster felt a similar unease but could only offer Solomon her full support, hoping he would succeed.
After swallowing his questions, Solomon returned to his quarters and started preparing for the mission: scrolls, a wand with magic missiles, spell books, alchemical potions, and a dimensional pouch stocked with spell components. After a moment's thought, he strapped a rapier to his belt. Still feeling unsettled, he added a handgun to the pouch as well. Although he trusted the Grandmaster, the nagging emptiness pushed him to be overly cautious.
After double-checking his gear, Solomon picked up his phone and, ignoring missed calls from Balthazar, dialed Bayonetta. It went straight to voicemail, and he sighed.
"Bayonetta, sorry, but I've got a mission from Kamar-Taj. I made your favorite fruit yogurt parfait, and the invisible servants are finishing the lamb roast. I may not be back tonight, so if you're upset, feel free to give my share to the Cheshire Cat. And tell Jeanne I'm sorry…"
—
Hoffas stood on a dark gray rose-patterned carpet with his hands clasped behind him, gripping a sapphire-tipped staff. He had been at his desk all night but still looked invigorated, welcoming the bright morning sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. Ever since escaping Balthazar's seal, Hoffas relished the morning sunlight that reminded him he was still alive.
He focused on the twisted wood grain of the polished oak desk and the assortment of trinkets scattered atop it—a stainless steel pen holder filled with pens and a small white plastic shape of indiscernible purpose. It was likely useless, just like the room's owner.
Hoffas didn't care to examine the room further. Aside from a marble statue of the Virgin Mary wrapped in black chains, everything in the room exuded the owner's vanity—posters and portraits of himself adorned every corner, making it difficult for Hoffas to think clearly.
He didn't look up as the door creaked open. "Are the satellite receivers set up?" Hoffas asked.
"All done," Drake replied, stepping in with a bag. "But setting them up ruined my nails. Not exactly the best experience."
Drake was Hoffas's associate, a magician trained by a wizard who had once served Morgan Le Fay. Drake's teacher had vanished when he was fifteen, leaving him only a spellbook and some basic alchemical recipes. Hoffas viewed Drake as an inferior mage, a second-rate practitioner, and held his late mentor in even lower regard. Hoffas knew well that Morgan Le Fay's court wizards had degraded over the centuries, eventually producing someone like Drake who had to rely on magic shows to make a living.
In ritual magic, a magic circle serves many purposes—enhancing a spell's potency, directing its effects, or linking multiple casters' energies. Precision is paramount; even the slightest error can lead to disaster. While Hoffas relied on Drake for menial tasks, he chose him specifically because he was a half-trained mage. Using satellite receivers as ritual sites was a ludicrous plan, but Drake didn't see the flaws, which suited Hoffas's intentions perfectly.
Hoffas had already pinpointed the leyline nodes. Once Veronica was released, Morgan Le Fay would begin her incantations, rendering her unable to stop the ritual. At that point, Hoffas would only need a small gesture with his staff to disrupt the spell, triggering a magical backlash. No matter what transpired, he would retain control over Morgan Le Fay, ensuring he could free Veronica.
Now, the next step was to release the final trapped witch within the nested magic dolls, aside from Morgan Le Fay (Veronica). "In here lies our final partner," Hoffas explained to Drake. "Abigail Williams, the young witch who made Salem infamous. Once she's freed, only Morgan Le Fay remains. Releasing her will take considerable power."
"What's next?" Drake asked, taking a seat, his part seemingly done.
"Have you heard of the parasitic curse? Apologies, I forgot you're behind on your studies," Hoffas said with a trace of mockery, though Drake seemed unfazed.
"I prefer to follow my instincts," Drake replied, relaxing in his chair, feet up on the desk. "You know, just going with the flow."
"Good," Hoffas murmured, stepping behind Drake. "The parasitic curse is a vile spell, supposedly originating in Haitian voodoo. We draw energy from life, converting it into magic from nature. This curse allows a mage to siphon another mage's power. In other words…"
"…it can steal your life," Hoffas completed, withdrawing his staff from Drake's neck. The curse worked perfectly, especially in Hoffas's hands, where years of practice had allowed him to maximize its potency. Drake's life force and soul were entirely drained, leaving only a warm, empty shell behind.
"Rings and magic—just accessories in your hands," Hoffas muttered, slipping the ring off Drake's lifeless finger and onto his staff. With a gentle tap of his staff on the doll, a glowing arc traced its surface, burning away the final seal.
Yet Abigail Williams, once freed, was not as docile as he'd expected. As soon as she emerged, her very presence cut through Hoffas's mental defenses. Abigail showed no malice toward him, though. She merely glanced at the sunlight outside and vanished. She had her own mission, a place to be and someone to meet—a person who would come for her, waiting just beyond the door.
Meanwhile, an elderly man with white hair hurried down an alley on Armstrong Street, gobbling a meatball and downing his pint of beer. He had a show to watch, a performance whose threads he had woven over fifteen years. He couldn't miss it.
—
Hours later, near noon, Hoffas finally regained his senses from Abigail's illusions. He'd reflexively cast a spell to lock down his mind, sparing himself from permanent madness. He could hardly imagine how Balthazar had managed to contain such a powerful witch. But there was no time to ponder that mystery, not with the culmination of his thousand-year scheme at hand.
Hoffas resolved to finish things himself. He'd always been adept at exploiting weaknesses; even if Dave truly was Merlin's heir, Hoffas knew he could target his vulnerabilities.
"Miss, could you help me with something?" Hoffas asked, pushing open the door to the university's broadcast control room. After asking multiple people for directions, he had finally found it, though his patience was wearing thin under Abigail's lingering influence.
Betty looked up, startled. "How did you get in here?"
Ignoring her question, Hoffas simply waved his staff dismissively, refusing to answer.
"Come with me," he commanded. In a daze, Betty stood and followed him out of the room. Hoffas had no qualms about using whatever methods necessary to achieve his goals.
—
Drake's office had two waves of visitors. First came Balthazar and Dave, who, having traced Drake's identity, located his office through online records. Balthazar believed Hoffas would be there, intending to retrieve the sealed container.
As expected, Dave quickly surrendered when Betty's life was on the line, handing over his ring to ensure her safety.
The second visitor, arriving shortly after, was Solomon. By the time he reached the office, everyone else had left. Even after so many years, the familiar taint of dark magic reminded him of Salem. Here, though, it was even more pungent.
Solomon held Kamar-Taj's artifact, the crystal sphere of Agamotto. Though he'd intended to leave it at Kamar-Taj, the Grandmaster insisted he bring it, as it could track this particular magic across the globe. Through the map displayed in the sphere, he could locate the source of the dark energy.
Standing before the desk, Solomon recited the incantation taught by the Grandmaster. A black shadow latched onto the sphere, tracing a line from New York up the coast toward the northeast. He zoomed in, following the path as it passed Boston, continuing along the coastline until it stopped at a place he knew well—Salem.
He was about to revisit an old haunt.
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