The shadow of nightmare once again swept over Wanda's mind. In her dream, she saw an old man in black robes standing atop an altar. His face was pale and withered, surrounded by a congregation bearing disturbing resemblances—dimwitted faces born of inbreeding, malformed limbs twitching grotesquely to the unbearable sound of a flute. She saw a baby, eyeless and noseless, cradled in the arms of a deranged woman who wept toward the gloomy sky, muttering blasphemies. She saw a man standing beneath a spire, and from the shattered church floor emerged the mutilated face of a giant gray monster rising from deep beneath the earth.
She had seen that face before—just recently, right beside the altar!
The suffocating summer storm clouds loomed oppressively overhead, and the caws of ravens echoed off car roofs as Wanda jolted awake in the passenger seat, her back drenched in sweat. "Did I fall asleep?" Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, as if she hadn't yet escaped the grip of madness that plagued her dream.
"Yes," Solomon nodded. He could feel the distorted pentagram's protective magic pulse with energy. He knew Wanda had just suffered a filthy dream, and the enchantments woven into her pendant had jolted her awake, preventing her from plunging deeper into the darkness. She shuddered, then recounted every detail of the vision to the magus—nothing held back.
"Your clairvoyance is too strong. Just touching the corpse let you see what even trained mages can't." Solomon's tone remained steady, though he pressed the gas pedal harder, the Aston Martin roaring down the road. "That's not a good thing, Wanda. You must control yourself. In the world of magic, talent is a curse—no less so for either of us."
A few hours ago, they had examined the corpse left behind by the vampires. Using their FBI cover, they had forcibly had it incinerated. This wasn't Wanda's first encounter with death, but it was the most revolting. After the task, she had vomited violently in private, as if her entire body were rejecting what she'd seen. Then she helped Solomon perform a spell of foresight on the killer—drained and pale-lipped, she had collapsed into the car and fallen into that nightmare almost immediately.
"The Boone family is connected to this. I saw one conducting a baptism—his name was James. Someone called out to him." Wanda struggled through the lingering nausea, her memory of the dream already starting to blur. "He looked like James Boone… a bald, pale-faced man, but much younger. A descendant of one of the Mayflower passengers, from Chapelwaite or Preacher's Point. I remember the folklorist mentioned that a sect leader from the Protestant splinter groups was named James Boone. He supposedly lived to be eighty."
"A superstitious place in a superstitious time. Belief in witchcraft, virginal birth, and religious dogma led to inbreeding and incest. In the end, Protestantism proved little better than the Catholicism it split from." Solomon recalled the records and obituaries he'd uncovered in the UK, along with the rambling journal of the madman Charles Boone. In the 18th century, two Boone brothers, Robert and Philip, had a falling out. Robert moved to Massachusetts, Philip stayed here—and a string of mysterious deaths and disappearances had followed ever since. Father, son, grandson—broken necks, vanishings, murder, suicide. The rift between the brothers had reportedly started when Philip Boone got involved with a cult, and the overnight disappearance of Jerusalem's Lot was linked to it.
He also remembered the seller's complaints of rats in the walls that kept him from sleeping—Charles Boone had mentioned the same thing. The seller, a descendant of Robert Boone's illegitimate child, had experienced the same phenomena. It now seemed likely that this wasn't just a junkie's hallucination or slum-induced pest problem. The Boone family's centuries-old curse had crossed the Atlantic, returning to claim its last bloodline.
"Maybe Philip Boone never died. Maybe that cultist is the vampire we're hunting." On the road, Solomon and Wanda wrestled with the terrifying implications. James Boone might very well be one of the surviving leaders of the Cult of Cologne Zun. The family had spread across North America, bringing with them faiths born beneath alien stars. Solomon waited for confirmation from the Immortal City's strike team in Scotland to verify the connection. Aside from brief stops to refuel, they hadn't set foot in any town. After hours of driving, night had completely fallen, the clouds having devoured the horizon's last light. Even lightning couldn't pierce the suffocating black sky.
North American nightjars had begun to gather. A foreboding sense hung in the air.
Before stepping out of the car, Solomon glanced at the data terminal one last time. The intelligence division had already begun apprehending cultists in Scotland.
"Come," he said. "The storm is coming. Let's visit the place where it all began—Jerusalem's Lot."
—
"Don't do this, Tony Stark. This is not your business." Agent Hand coldly addressed the billionaire's holographic image. The movement of the Helicarriers hadn't escaped Stark's satellites. What frustrated her most was that Congress had actually allowed satellites with this level of surveillance capability. No one knew how much money Stark Industries had poured into lobbying, just to fatten the pockets of idiots in the White House and on Capitol Hill.
"Then maybe you should tell me what Solomon is doing, Agent Hand. What kind of mission requires three Helicarriers?" Tony Stark turned to the side, doing something off-screen. A moment later, Steve Rogers appeared in another window. He shared Stark's channel but did not echo his words. The Helicarrier movements had made many uneasy—including the Avengers.
"I didn't tell Congress about this," Stark said. "The old man's been blocking me. So give me one good reason not to."
"No comment."
"Agent Hand, is this mission related to magic?" Rogers asked after a long silence.
"No comment."
"I see. Compared to the Son of the Devil incident—should we evacuate civilians?"
"No comment."
"I've had it!" Stark threw up his hands. "I can track your movement with Avengers satellites. Why Maine and Scotland? What the hell is happening there?"
"We are not some justice league, Tony Stark. Our mission is to eliminate supernatural threats. This isn't SHIELD's amateur hour. National affairs don't concern us." Agent Hand's expression was as cold and severe as a schoolteacher scolding unruly children. She shoved a snooping Kaecilius away to keep the mages out of frame. "Listen carefully, you narcissist! Your opinion doesn't matter. Stop prying into the Immortal City's missions. Your meddling will only make things worse! Kamar-Taj and the Immortal City can handle this. That applies to everyone—including you, Captain Rogers. Keep the Avengers away from our objective. If you interfere, I will not hesitate."
------------------
Enjoying the story? Support the author and get early access to chapters by joining my Patre@n!
Find me at: patre@n*com/Mutter
You can read each novel for $5 or get them all for just $15.
Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]