Tony Stark's impression of Solomon, aside from his enigmatic magic, was that of an overly rigid and unyielding teenager. Sure, Stark knew the boy had stellar grades, but he lacked the vivacity typical of adolescence. Stark felt Solomon had serious psychological issues—after all, what were American teens his age doing? Dating, playing basketball, obsessing over sports, and getting lost in video games. Solomon, however, seemed completely detached from all of it.
When Stark suggested engaging in more "normal" activities, Solomon responded only with a disdainful glare. He wasn't about to explain his private hobbies to Stark—especially not that the T-shirt hidden beneath his jacket was plastered with images from an R18 doujinshi. It was not exactly street-legal in the U.S., and not everyone had the guts to wear such clothing in public.
Ignoring Stark's ramblings, Solomon directed Dana, his homunculus, to pick up the custom weapon he'd commissioned and began demonstrating how to use it. The weapon was an oversized double-edged sword, broad enough to shield Dana's side. Its tip was rounded, and the blade's weight bordered on the absurd—Solomon himself could barely lift it without activating his Stigmata. Even transporting the weapon to the shooting range had required mechanical assistance. Yet in Dana's hands, it was as light as a feather. This pleased Solomon immensely.
With the sword's mass and swing velocity, few enemies could withstand its devastating attacks. Once the blade was enchanted and paired with Dana's alchemical engine, Solomon was confident it could slice through a car.
"You know," Stark mused from his chair, "when I was your age, my daily agenda was just one endless party."
Receiving no response, Stark's thoughts took a bizarre turn. "Wait, are you mad because I didn't let you drink whiskey? Champagne is fine—still against federal law, but hey, even I didn't touch whiskey at your age. Oh, and no smoking either. You wouldn't believe how many high schoolers try weed. I'm honestly relieved you haven't picked that up. Hold on, didn't I see in a S.H.I.E.L.D. report that you bought something weird at a pharmacy in Puente Antiguo...?"
"I don't use addictive substances," Solomon interrupted, rolling his eyes while directing Dana's training against one of his magical illusions. "That was for potion-making. Where did you even get that idea? Did someone put you up to this?"
"An old guy came to see me," Stark admitted, spreading his hands in exasperation. The "old guy" was none other than Captain Rogers, one of Stark's many colorful nicknames for him. Solomon quickly pieced together the sequence of events—Nick Fury had talked to Rogers, Rogers had talked to Stark, and now they were all trying to "fix" him. They wanted him to be more "normal."
But Solomon believed he was perfectly normal. He played video games, dated, slacked off in class, and daydreamed during lectures—just like any other teenager. The only difference was magic. It was the mysteries of the magical world that made him seem unusual to them. That, he thought, was their prejudice.
Rather than argue, Solomon simply directed another dismissive glare at Stark, leaving him to interpret it however he wished.
But a glare carried no actual data, and Stark completely missed the message. "Last time was just an accident," Stark said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Solomon. "This time, Pepper will never find out. I've made sure of it. I even instructed Jarvis to keep our next trip confidential."
"Of course, sir," Jarvis's voice chimed in. "Only you have access to this itinerary—"
"Damn it! I really need to teach Jarvis how to lie. If Pepper hears that phrasing, she'll figure it out. Anyway, Solomon, I'm taking you to see something every guy should enjoy. Trust me, you'll love it. And no, it's not a strip show."
"I've worked with Agent Romanoff," Solomon replied, deadpan. "Or rather, she once infiltrated the magical world. After seeing her, I doubt any stripper could compare, so it would be a waste of money."
"Oh, so you like older women. Got it," Stark said with a nod. "But we're going to Hollywood! Ever heard of it? It's way more exciting than you think. You should see the world while you're young. Trust me, once you do, you'll realize Romanoff isn't all that special. Don't let a spy be your first love—that's just embarrassing."
"Hah." Solomon turned away, refusing to humor the idiot any further.
"So, you were supposed to go to Hollywood, but canceled?" Natasha Romanoff asked, sipping her tea, her curiosity evident. "Why? Aren't teenage boys supposed to fantasize about movie stars?"
"Oh, my dear Natasha," Solomon replied with a smirk, enjoying his iced lemon tea. "Pepper caught wind of Stark's plans and stormed upstairs with a pile of documents. Stark didn't dare say a word."
He conveniently left out his own role in leaking the itinerary. Stark still had no clue how Pepper had found out about his plans—or how his last trip to a Broadway burlesque show had been exposed. He certainly didn't suspect Solomon, believing the mage would have been excited about such outings.
In the aftermath, Stark was now subjecting Jarvis to diagnostics.
"Let's mourn poor Stark," Natasha said, suppressing a laugh. "So, why are you here? What do you need from me?"
"I need you to allocate some personnel," Solomon said, tapping his teacup with a spoon. Dana handed Natasha a thick dossier.
"You've really outdone yourself with her," Natasha remarked, glancing briefly at the homunculus before opening the file. Inside were satellite images annotated with markers and timestamps. "What's this?"
"A target I'm tracking," Solomon said, his eyes gleaming. The Cosmic Cauldron and the Eye of Agamotto were impressive, but tracking Ghost Rider was nearly impossible amidst the myriad magical disturbances on Earth. Solomon believed cameras and facial recognition might be more effective. Ghost Rider was a crucial lead, and Solomon needed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technological support. "Johnny Blaze is classified as Level 10 intelligence, which only you can access. I need to know if S.H.I.E.L.D. has been tracking Ghost Rider or his girlfriend, Roxanne. I saw her on a TV program, but Ghost Rider's trail remains elusive."
"Why are you chasing Ghost Rider?" Natasha closed the file and leaned forward, her interest piqued. "You'll have to give me a reason—this better be worth dragging me to London."
"Let's be honest, Natasha. You're here because Nick Fury wants answers, aren't you? I deliberately avoided him for this very reason." Solomon smiled slyly. "Though it seems you're not ready to jump ship just yet."
"I'm still a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," Natasha replied, her fingers brushing lightly across Solomon's hand. He knew full well that, if she wanted, she could turn a simple teaspoon into a deadly weapon. This was merely an act.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. can send in strike teams," Solomon said. "This mission will involve illegal arms dealers and drug traffickers—a little gift from me to you. But the other side of this, you can't interfere with."
"Deal," Natasha said, her smile sharp.
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