He had paid an exceptionally high consulting fee—more than enough for Sherlock Holmes to travel around the world three times and still have plenty left over. But the detective didn't care about the fee; what he truly desired were puzzles. The mage understood this perfectly, which was why he had left behind plenty of clues to guide Holmes to this place. The path to the final mystery was strewn with monsters—literal ones. Solomon hadn't completely eradicated the vampire clans hiding in London's sewers; they were too well concealed. These creatures did care about the loss of their kin, so Holmes' investigation would unfold like a horror novel—twisted, eerie, and unlikely to have a happily-ever-after, at least not in Solomon's estimation.
Stephen Strange and Sherlock Holmes each had their own flaws, and Solomon wanted to use this case to show that unbridled curiosity could become the root of disaster. The clues he had planted would lead them into the sewers, and he just hoped they'd brought enough bullets.
Currently, the detective was rummaging through garbage bins under the supervision of Scotland Yard. His tweed coat reeked of trash, and John Watson, lacking the obsessive intensity to suppress his own sense of smell, could only awkwardly poke at the filth with his old, worn-out cane. The people in this neighborhood were either addicts or impoverished, and their living conditions were abysmal. Combined with London's cold, damp weather, even the patrolling officers tasked with securing the scene were reluctant to linger. Clad in fluorescent-green jackets with reflective stripes, they had long since moved to the side to sip hot tea. The local residents didn't pay much attention either—thanks to Inspector Lestrade's discretion and a bit of help from Mycroft Holmes, the case hadn't attracted public attention. The officers and neighbors all believed the victim was just another junkie who overdosed.
That wasn't such a big deal—at least not in this neighborhood.
From the rooftop, the mage watched the detective and his companion comb through the scene one last time before turning to leave. If Sherlock Holmes succeeded, the teleportation trap Solomon had planted would activate, transporting the detective to the London Sanctum, where fellow mages would lead him to the Himalayan temple to uncover the truth. If the detective failed, Solomon would have to return to dispose of the vampire's remains—or the detective's body—and erase all traces of the vampire clans in the sewers. That would mean the candidate had failed. But Solomon didn't have time to waste on backups, so he had recruited help.
When Solomon arrived at the London Sanctum, his apprentice was already there waiting.
The Scarlet Witch stood at attention in a knee-length black leather coat, its collar adorned with intricate Baroque-style brass trim. Gold-threaded insignia on the shoulder pads denoted her rank and title. Beneath the coat, she wore a similarly long blood-red jacket, cinched at the waist by a brass magnetic belt that secured both garments tightly. A pistol and long knife were firmly holstered at her hips. She wore black leather gloves extending to her forearms, and on her right middle finger gleamed a silver ring denoting her service in the special division of the Immortal City. This was no ordinary ring—it was a magical item capable of instantly casting a protective spell. It was one of Solomon's better prototypes from his leisure experiments and had become one of the many gifts Wanda Maximoff had chosen to wear.
Wanda looked sharp, composed—far removed from the rustic young woman who had once left Sokovia. She had voluntarily trained under Agents Victoria Hand and Natasha Romanoff. Solomon hadn't investigated the contents of her training, but after the Battle of Finbowent, where manpower was scarce, Wanda had officially joined the ranks and received her uniform. Visibly, the training had been effective, but her true capabilities would be proven only in live combat. Compared to her, her blood brother, Pietro Maximoff, had become a tracksuit-wearing Adidas enthusiast under the Avengers' tutelage. His laid-back attitude was practically etched into his eyebrows, much to Wanda's fury.
She couldn't tolerate Pietro's aimlessness. To her, his bourgeois lifestyle was something handed to him by others. He should've followed the path Solomon had laid out—becoming a scholar or self-sufficient operative—instead of wasting time with the Avengers. Especially Tony Stark. Wanda still held a grudge against him. Despite the fact that he hadn't personally sold weapons to Sokovia, his role in the military-industrial complex was a sin that couldn't be overlooked. Because of this recurring argument, she and Pietro had had another major falling out and didn't even spend Christmas together.
Still, none of that affected Wanda's current mood—because the Immortal City had given her a goal worth striving for.
She greeted Solomon at the Sanctum's entrance with a subtle smile, and before he could even explain the mission, she stepped forward and embraced him.
"Alright, I've got to say—the Immortal City's uniform designs are pretty terrible," Solomon said, patting her back. "Too focused on aesthetics and completely ignore comfort." The attending mages around the Sanctum showed clear disdain before dispersing, their curiosity sated.
"This time, we'll be working together again, Wanda."
"I'm ready," Wanda replied confidently.
"Don't be so tense—it's just vampires," Solomon said. "I need you to help me assess the number of vampire clans in the London sewer system. I won't have time to finish the mission myself, so I need you to handle the final stage."
He handed her a wand—the same one she had used in New York City during the Finbowent battle.
Based on her confirmed kill count, she had performed well. Solomon believed this mission shouldn't pose much difficulty. Wanda's current position focused on magical affairs, and she would be expected to collaborate frequently with Kamar-Taj in future hunts for dark magical creatures. This assignment was within her scope of duty. What's more, Solomon would accompany her during the initial phase. As long as Wanda had studied Anatomy and Ecological Habits of Dark Magical Creatures, compiled by the biological research lab, and Agent Victoria Hand's tactical manuals, this mission would one day be considered so trivial she wouldn't even bother to mention it. Not that Tier-3 angels were necessarily stronger than vampires—just that the most powerful vampire in London had been eliminated by Kamar-Taj over a hundred years ago. The remaining low-level ones could be taken out with bullets. The real issue was how well they could hide. The mages could at best summon spirits to hunt them, but to divert all Sanctum staff from their posts to purge the entire sewer system? Impossible.
"Magic and tech—whatever gets the job done," Solomon quirked an eyebrow. "How's your aim?"
Wanda Maximoff burst out laughing. She drew a finely crafted handgun made in the Immortal City's armory. "Why don't you try me and find out?"
(End of Chapter)
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