"Knowing my future self is still so flirtatious and charming puts my mind at ease, Miss Carter. You'll return to the typical muddled state of an aged mind about ten minutes after I leave, so make the most of it," Solomon said with a smile, rising to his feet. Through Peggy Carter's words, Solomon had gleaned a glimpse of things his future self experienced after entering the timeline of time travel. However, even with the aid of his magic, Peggy's aged brain could no longer function with the clarity of youth. She would occasionally forget what she'd just said and repeat herself, like a stuck cassette tape.
Aging is the most dreadful curse in the world. Magic can ease its effects, but not permanently. Rejuvenation magic is an extremely advanced form of alchemy, and only the "First Honey Blossom" that Solomon possessed—the prototype of the so-called "Red Elixir"—had the potential to restore Peggy Carter's youth. Unfortunately, she no longer had enough time left for it to take effect.
"And thank you for your honesty. I've been collecting records of the identities my future self assumed during time travel, trying to figure out what roles I played in human history. So far, I've confirmed Christopher Marlowe—after all, an atheist who burned Catholics alive is far too fitting for me. The only downside is I'll have to go back to school. I never expected to have another chance during World War II. It's wonderful. If I could, I'd burn some Puritans too."
"Don't say such stupid jokes again. You always liked cruel jokes in the past," Peggy Carter said, her frail lungs laboring to exchange air with the help of a respirator. Solomon had made her laugh, but her condition couldn't withstand too much joy. However, Solomon hadn't been joking.
"Ten minutes will be enough. Until we meet again, Solomon Damonet."
"Until we meet again, esteemed Miss Carter." Solomon opened the door to let in the medical staff who had been on the verge of kicking it down. Most of them were former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, spared during the HYDRA uprising thanks to Peggy Carter's protection. Both MI6 and American intelligence had owed her too many favors. He cast one last look at Peggy Carter, now lying still on her bed—death had already unfurled its wings over this legendary agent. In the eyes of the mystic, she was completely shrouded by enormous black feathers. Even Solomon couldn't save her from death; doing so would come at too great a cost. Without turning back, he left silently.
Not even acknowledging the old white-haired man seated on the bench outside the small house.
"You're wearing mourning robes. I hope you haven't lost yet another 'distant relative' to misfortune, Mr. Damonet."
"Pendragon. If you truly respect me, then use my full name—Solomon Messiah Damonet Pendragon. It's the name my teacher gave me, meaning 'Anointed One, the Peaceful Sovereign Pendragon.' A beautiful wish. I know you want to laugh, but I don't mind."
The spellcaster's black taxi took him to Baker Street, where he rang the bell and was instantly greeted by the enthusiastic Mrs. Hudson. After stuffing six freshly baked cookies and a cup of hot tea into his belly, he finally made his way up the stairs to Sherlock Holmes's room. Holmes greeted him with a scowl—not only because Solomon had fooled him the last time, but also because he'd left muddy, bloodstained boot prints all over the floor. It had taken Holmes and Watson nearly an hour to clean them before Mrs. Hudson woke up and had a heart attack at the sight.
"Perhaps you've forgotten, but you called me here, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Thank you, Dr. Watson. Without you, Holmes would've probably forgotten even the most basic manners of hospitality."
"Go ahead, Sherlock," Watson rubbed his hands and patted his thighs as he settled into a soft chair. "Or shall I explain?"
Holmes extended his hand, indicating that Watson should handle the briefing.
"Well, it's like this. We encountered a particularly bizarre case," Watson licked his lips. "So strange that even Sherlock began considering the possibility of magic."
"I don't believe in magic. To me, you and your Kamar-Taj cult are just a group with access to advanced technology. Maybe those monsters in the sewers are just your genetically mutated lab experiments," Holmes suddenly interrupted. "Illusions, hallucinogens, the usual tricks—just like the old alchemists. This is a consultation, not a request for help."
"Think whatever you like, Mr. Holmes. I admire those who view the world through reason," Solomon nodded approvingly. "Last time I had other matters and couldn't give you a taste of magic. But I believe we'll have time after Dr. Watson's account. Please continue."
Thrown off by the interruption, Watson hesitated. "Anyway, a criminal... a titled criminal, supposedly came back from the dead. Although he was held in solitary confinement, he was stabbed to death with a sharpened toothbrush handle. Yet three days after his burial, his grave was dug up. Witnesses saw him walking away in his burial suit. The police locked down the site, and the intelligence services got involved—otherwise, every paper in Britain would've made it front-page news. We just want to know…"
"If magic was involved?" Solomon raised an eyebrow. "As far as I know, no. My guess is the reason this titled criminal's story hasn't exploded in the media is because his case involved young girls—linked to Epstein, and to the British royal family. A pedophile. Even the most vile inmates despise such people."
"How can you be so sure?" Holmes strode from the window to Solomon's armchair. "You haven't even been to the scene or read the case files!"
"Because we have surveillance methods—nonphysical ones. I mean, magic," Solomon emphasized the last word. "We monitor etheric waves to detect magic—precise, stable structures that have remained unchanged since the dawn of human civilization. We can observe both the observable and unobservable universe. If it were necromantic resurrection magic, the Eye of Agamotto would detect it. If it were simple resurrection, even the dullest apprentice in the London Sanctum could sense the etheric disturbance. And yes, I can use both. As for how I know the criminal's offenses—well, I also have a copy of Prince Andrew's incriminating evidence. Complete, clear, sufficient to convict even the dimmest judge. Guess where I found it?"
"MI6?" Watson asked.
"CIA and KGB. Don't forget the UK-US intelligence-sharing alliance."
"Actually, it was Watson who insisted on inviting you. I still believe there's nothing magical about this case—just an unsolved mystery," Holmes immediately turned and walked away. "And I have no interest in your cult."
"He studied most of the major esoteric orders in history while you were gone for half a month," Watson added. "He still thinks your cult is just like those Christian esoteric groups who practiced sacred marriage, only with better tech."
Solomon merely chuckled. "Tell me, Sherlock Holmes—do you like skydiving?"
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