Anna wasn't distracted by Solomon's nonsense, nor was she as concerned about their mentally ill mother as her brother.
"What is that?" she asked, pointing at the twisted lump of flesh near Solomon's feet. The overpowering scent of sulfur had initially masked the stench of burning flesh, but now that the smoke had started to clear, the foul odor was unmistakable. Its source was the grotesque object near Solomon.
"Some summoned creature. All that's left of it is this limb," Solomon said, crouching down despite the nauseating texture of the crushed remains. Using his uninjured left hand, he picked up the severed limb. The sorcerer hooked his finger through a bit of exposed bone and lifted it to show Anna, who instinctively leaned back in disgust. "The demon summoned it to buy itself time to escape. It's not very powerful on its own, but it could summon more demons to this plane, so I had to eliminate it."
"So, the demon is gone?" Anna turned to glance at her brother, the doctor, and the nun who were standing nearby. "Will it come back?"
"It will," Solomon replied, holding the limb away from his body to avoid getting the dripping sulfuric blood and charred flesh on his clothes and shoes. "Negotiations failed, so this was the only option. As for your mother… I don't know if she'll regain consciousness. That's not my area of expertise."
"That's good enough," Anna said, not pressing the issue further. She understood that driving the demon away was already an incredible feat. Besides, her memories of her mother weren't exactly pleasant. "You seem to have a lot of secrets," she added, tapping Solomon's chest with her finger. "Shouldn't you be telling me about them?"
"There's plenty I don't know myself." Solomon shifted the subject. "Oh, Mr. Helstrom, you seem a bit upset."
"My mother—what… what happened to her? You never warned me about the consequences she might face!" Damon's voice was filled with frustration and anger as he stepped toward Solomon.
"Actually, I did warn Miss Helstrom," Solomon said, dodging Damon's hands as he tried to grab his collar. "But it seems you need a different kind of reminder."
"I didn't call you here to turn my mother into a mindless husk!"
"She already was one. People possessed by demons rarely retain their souls. I don't think your mother is an exception… but it seems you're not ready to hear that. Oh, really? You're walking toward me instead of running away?"
Damon lunged at Solomon, but the sorcerer swiftly extended his leg, landing a hard kick to Damon's stomach.
Solomon didn't hold back. Damon, whose physical strength was still mostly that of a regular human, stumbled backward and fell to the ground, gagging from the impact. The nun and the doctor rushed to help him up, while Anna remained aloof, watching coldly as if deep in thought.
"This is why I hate helping people," Solomon said, ignoring the pain in his burned right hand. He carefully pulled two parchment contracts from his dimensional bag using his fingers. "There's always someone who expects perfection, even though that's impossible. Otherwise, people wouldn't bother praying."
Addressing Dr. Hastings and Sister Gabriel Rossetti, Solomon held out the contracts. "Sign these. As ordinary people involved in magical affairs, you're required to formalize your involvement. Especially you, Sister Rossetti. I also have a Vatican directive for you—congratulations, you're being recalled to Rome."
"What? Why?" The young nun looked shocked. She'd only recently been assigned to Ohio, and the Vatican would never summon her back so quickly. She wasn't an old-school nun; she'd undergone professional training, earned degrees in the secular world, and had a promising future managing monasteries, orphanages, or even charity organizations like Dr. Hastings.
"Because the Vatican knows what's worth dealing with and what isn't," Solomon said flatly. "Frankly, if you keep sticking your nose into this, you'll die as quickly as those clueless girls in horror movies. Go back to Rome and get some further education—at the very least, learn their embezzlement techniques. That's a skill worth picking up."
He gestured for Anna to hand him the contracts. "Sign here, and your involvement ends. The rest is my responsibility. Anna, you and Damon don't need to sign; you're not ordinary humans."
"What are you going to do?" Anna asked.
"Track it down," Solomon replied. "Whatever connection it had with me in the past, it has no business causing trouble in the material plane now. That's my responsibility. However, since I have classes to attend, other sorcerers will handle this."
Turning to Dr. Hastings and Sister Rossetti, Solomon added, "Sign quickly—I'm on a tight schedule."
"Ugh—" Solomon winced as he repeatedly cast healing spells on his burned right hand. Each surge of positive energy clashed with the infernal magic embedded in the wound, causing him to shudder in pain. The hellfire and negative energy left by Marduk's black magic were notoriously difficult to purge, but Solomon was confident that persistence would eventually heal it.
Anna, who had left St. Teresa's Psychiatric Hospital with Solomon, noticed him consistently hiding his right hand behind his back. Once they got into the car, she leaned over from the passenger seat and grabbed his injured hand.
Clumsily, Anna tried to bandage the burn using what she thought were practical, scientific methods. Solomon stopped her just in time to prevent her from pouring alcohol on the wound, which could have been disastrous—not because of the pain, but because the embers on the wound were still glowing. Solomon wasn't eager to die in a fiery car explosion.
"Is it over?" Anna asked curiously, watching as Solomon used two fingers to decline a phone call.
"Do you still want to kill that demon?" she added, her tone probing. "I overheard what it said about your… relationship."
"Of course," Solomon answered without hesitation. He adjusted his posture so the leather seat aligned better with his spine. "Our relationship is one of mutual destruction."
Lightly tracing his finger over the wound, he reduced the burn's size slightly. "I'm a sorcerer. If I see a demon, I kill it. Same goes for werewolves and vampires—it's my duty, part of my contractual obligations. If you don't mind waiting a bit, I'll need to finish healing this wound first. The pain makes spellcasting difficult."
Elsewhere, Nick Fury slammed another phone onto his desk. Solomon never answered his calls. Did the sorcerer really think the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't recognize the man flying around on a broomstick? Who else in the world did that?
Nick Fury had even secured some "nonexistent" funding for a project—money that wouldn't require laundering—but Solomon had beaten him to the punch.
Previously, Fury had assumed Solomon's lack of interest in material wealth meant he could share classified documents with him freely. But when he'd gone to Solomon's school, the staff had told him the sorcerer was on leave.
Fury doubted Solomon was avoiding him. He simply wanted to know what the sorcerer planned to do with the money. His greatest fear was that Solomon might build his own faction to rival S.H.I.E.L.D., or worse, engage in criminal activities—like running street gangs, smuggling drugs through portals, or other nefarious schemes. Compared to those possibilities, the missing funds were a minor issue.
Thus, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance network was reactivated. Agent Maria Hill forwarded Solomon's location to Fury.
"We're going on a field trip," Fury said, pulling on his trademark black trench coat. "Prepare the Quinjet. It's time for a routine visit."
"Agent Coulson just assembled his team," Hill suggested. "Why not let them handle a relatively friendly target?"
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