Cumberland County is the most populous county in Maine, and while Yarmouth's population isn't particularly large or small in comparison, it still houses over 8,000 residents. The town's most famous features are the four waterfalls along the Royal River and nearly sixty mills built between 1674 and 1931. The middle-aged priest eagerly recounted to Solomon and Wanda the upcoming Yarmouth Clam Festival and the success of the last celebration. Based on the turnout from previous years, the upcoming Clam Festival was expected to attract over 120,000 visits—roughly fourteen times the town's population. While searching through the previous priest's journals, the priest also recommended Solomon try the town's famous fried clams and passionately urged both visitors to donate to the local Lions Club, an international non-political service organization. He highlighted their work on vision and hearing aid programs, speech protection, diabetes education, youth outreach, environmental awareness, and more.
Protestant churches, after all, don't just focus on preaching. Community development also falls within the clergy's responsibilities. "Only two days until the Clam Festival," the priest said worriedly. "Everyone's concerned about the weather. The meteorologists are getting swamped with calls because they're predicting a summer storm forming off the coast—something they say shouldn't even be possible. And yet, it's happening." He sighed. "Most of the parishioners' chairs—set up weeks ago to reserve their Friday night parade spots—have already been blown away by the wind. But only God can decide Friday's weather. If you don't mind, I can give you a car charm shaped like a clam steamer—it'll be your bribe to the local government," he said with a half-joking smile.
"The storm will pass," Wanda replied, "even if it's not for the sake of a car charm."
No sooner had she spoken than Solomon shot her a sharp look—she immediately realized she'd said too much. If the priest asked further, she wouldn't know how to lie convincingly. Luckily, the priest took her words as nothing more than a kind reassurance.
"Thank you, kind miss." The priest retrieved Father John's notebook. It was a brown hardbound journal, so old-fashioned that it might've been older than its owner. Though he still harbored some unease about the impulse he felt upon seeing the strangely dressed man in what appeared to be a British-style suit (far more tailored than typical American cuts), Wanda's warmth, the odd inner compulsion, and the official-looking credentials dissolved all of his doubts like dew under the midday sun. Smiling, he said, "The diocese didn't reclaim these personal effects, and I don't make a habit of reading others' diaries—church matters are kept in a separate log. I believe I can help the people here just fine without it. I don't know why you need it, but I hope it's useful."
"We're not sure if it will be." Solomon took the journal without ceremony and quickly flipped to the last few entries before Father John's accident. Wanda sat with her coffee, engaging the priest in idle conversation. Soon, only the rustle of turning pages and the murmur of casual dialogue filled the room. The priest quietly poured Solomon a cup of coffee as well, without asking whether he'd drink it. The arcanist didn't even look up to thank him before the priest returned to his seat, continuing his chat with Wanda.
Wanda subtly steered the conversation toward local security, but Yarmouth's violent crime rate was lower than 77% of cities in the United States. The worst incident in recent history was the 1981 Camden family case.
"That happened before this town even had its youngest Episcopal church built!" the priest said proudly, clearly proud of his community's safety. As if to prove it, he offered to call the police department or local churches—the Royal Baptist and the central parish—to verify the crime records. "Most folks here are decent, respectable people—educated, polite, and devout."
"He's right. Grandma Yara's son might be the town's biggest disappointment, and even Father John's journal confirms that. The people here are upright. What happened to Father John really was an accident," Solomon said, handing back the journal. "If you don't mind, could you help us make a few calls? We have some questions for your parishioners. I can't tell you what we're investigating—it's classified. But don't worry. They aren't involved in anything disgraceful. I just want more information."
"I need more information!" Victoria Hand's voice was like cold steel, every word dripping with deadly weight. "I don't care what you use. As long as Jiaying is still breathing, she will talk. The Monarch said she can live—for now. But he never said she had to remain whole. No... pain may not work. I'm authorizing the use of neurochemical agents. Dose is up to you… Stephanie, I need you to assign more Hydra interrogators. I don't think a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent alone will be enough. Yes, I know you're busy, but get logistics to review the munitions inventory. I've sent the deficit. Dispatch a transport to resupply the carrier. We haven't restocked since Sokovia. We've got another fight coming—and I trust the Monarch has already informed you. Yes, we're collecting all comms data from Yarmouth. Yes, I'm using A.I.—"
Stephanie hung up.
In front of her, a mechanical alchemical construct was suspended in nutrient fluid, sparking with energy. The Immortal City's A.I. had been tightly contained within this vessel and was now scanning all of Yarmouth's phone records, social media uploads, GPS trails, and other data. Compared to the sheer chaos of the Ultron incident, this was easy work. Soon, Stephanie sent Solomon a compiled list.
"Hello, Grandma Yara, I'd like to know what the stranger you saw at Larrabee Park on July 3rd looked like… Hello, I'd like to know where the stranger you passed near Yarmouth Harbor before the storm went… Hello, did you happen to visit the Muddy Rudder restaurant last week…"
While the priest patiently called around, Solomon and Wanda sat nearby, sorting through the remaining people on the list. This was the greatest flaw in American public security—remote regions had no surveillance cameras, and the few that did existed hadn't caught anything useful. If the town had street-facing cameras, Solomon was confident he could have caught the vampire by now.
No deduction. No detective work. No prophecy required. But in the absence of such tools, he had no choice but to rely on grassroots legwork to track down the creature believed to be lurking near Cousins Island. In a small town, strangers stood out. The priest soon yielded results—three days ago, someone had seen a group of people in black robes at Larrabee Park. A week earlier, a stranger was spotted along the road from Route 1 to Brickyard Hollow—possibly a drug addict. At the Owl & Elm Tavern, someone had overheard talk about a group renting a boat to Casco Bay.
Suddenly, a tremor rattled the room.
The priest, long accustomed to recent minor quakes, wasn't initially concerned—but this one lasted far longer and grew stronger. When it finally stopped, the previously uncontacted parishioners began flooding the church with phone calls. As a community leader, the priest remained calm, following the safety protocols Solomon had provided. The East Coast's largest recorded earthquake was a 7.3 magnitude event in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1886, meaning most East Coast residents had no idea what to do in an earthquake. Yarmouth, a rural town with many blue-collar residents, was no exception.
Solomon frowned. He was deeply concerned about intraplate quakes. The Charleston earthquake had been triggered by ancient faults buried deep beneath the North American Plate—faults that vampires were now shaking, potentially reactivating. Their summoning ritual was destabilizing something deep below.
"Give me the epicenter coordinates," Solomon said, pulling out his phone. "There's no way it got far."
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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)
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