Bayonetta didn't manage to get much out of Jeanne—because as soon as the question left her lips, Jeanne, flushed with embarrassment, grabbed the Cheshire Cat and hurled it at Solomon's face. Bayonetta's mischievous glint in her gray eyes made it clear she already knew something. Her goal was merely to enjoy Jeanne's discomfort. When Solomon asked Bayonetta about it later, she simply replied, "It's a little secret between us girls. You're not entitled to know."
"Fine," Solomon muttered with a shrug, cradling the sulking Cheshire Cat as it whimpered indignantly. He left the room, Bayonetta's laughter trailing behind him. He knew better than to linger—Jeanne might actually pull out her gun.
The search for Mephisto's progeny was painfully slow, and tracking Ghost Rider wasn't any better. Neither Kamar-Taj nor S.H.I.E.L.D. had made meaningful progress. Ghost Rider seemed to have vanished entirely. Not even the Cosmic Cauldron or surveillance cameras could pinpoint him. Despite everyone knowing Johnny Blaze couldn't resist his nocturnal urges to exact vengeance, no one had been able to find a flaming skeleton roaming the night.
The sorcerers couldn't rule out the possibility that Johnny Blaze was receiving help. The notion made Kamar-Taj even more uneasy, as the only entity likely to assist Ghost Rider was Mephisto himself. No one could predict what the cunning old devil might be planning.
Solomon had even used S.H.I.E.L.D.'s connections to track down Johnny Blaze's girlfriend, Roxanne—a fiery beauty with tan skin who worked as a TV host. However, Roxanne told him that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had already questioned her multiple times. She had no idea where Johnny had gone. Her boyfriend, who had once again disappeared without a word, hadn't left behind any way to contact him. Roxanne's frustration was palpable; Solomon suspected that even if Ghost Rider suddenly showed up, Roxanne would probably greet him with a punch to the face.
That lead had dried up. Solomon now pinned his hopes on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facial recognition system, reasoning that while Johnny Blaze's immortality came from Ghost Rider, his human form still required food. While Blaze wouldn't starve to death if he didn't eat, hunger would still torment him—a pain Solomon doubted Johnny could endure alongside the curse of Ghost Rider. Solomon hoped cameras in supermarkets might catch Blaze buying food.
Months passed. Solomon finished his A-Level course selection, but Kamar-Taj and S.H.I.E.L.D. remained empty-handed. The search for Mephisto's progeny fared even worse. The half-demon was indistinguishable from an ordinary person. Even the Cosmic Cauldron couldn't sift through Earth's seven billion inhabitants to find him. Solomon began to think that unless he slowed down his academic progress, he'd graduate from university before either target was found.
This lack of progress underscored Kamar-Taj's limited influence in the mundane world. Solomon suspected S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't fully invested in the matter, treating it as just another routine task. This only heightened his desire to establish Kamar-Taj's own network of earthly operatives. But until S.H.I.E.L.D. inevitably crumbled, there was no way to recruit agents from their ranks. For now, Solomon had to bide his time and wait for the right moment to extend his invitation.
Since Solomon's role was combat, not reconnaissance, he had little to do at this stage. Taking advantage of a one-week autumn break, he decided to go on vacation to a countryside cabin in northern Europe. Accompanying him were Jeanne, Bayonetta, and Dana, the homunculus. Autumn and early winter were prime seasons for salmon and wild mushrooms, and Solomon had already arranged with his neighbors to harvest chanterelles and smoke fish together. He now had an entire week to enjoy the simple pleasures of rural life.
At the cabin, Solomon busied himself preparing chicken and chanterelle soup using a free-range rooster provided by a neighbor. The pot simmered over a roaring fire, the rich aroma filling the cozy space. Seated on a blue Italian sofa near the hearth, Solomon and the witches relished the hearty meal. Alongside the soup, there were smoked mackerel fishcakes, a treat they hadn't tasted in a year. Supermarket versions couldn't hold a candle to these homemade delicacies—a sentiment shared by their resident food critic, the Cheshire Cat. Its authoritative review, worthy of a food magazine, was simple: "The countryside fishcakes are unrivaled."
The witches agreed wholeheartedly with the cat's verdict—so much so that they stole its fishcakes for themselves.
"Meow…" The Cheshire Cat whimpered in Solomon's lap, its round head drooping in exaggerated sorrow. Solomon, sighing in resignation, stroked its head and fed it a piece of smoked salmon he'd prepared himself. Ever since returning to the countryside, the witches' appetites had grown insatiable, as if the coming winter justified indulging in endless feasting. Not that they needed to worry about weight—whatever they consumed was effortlessly refined into magical energy.
"You seem distracted, Boya. Is something troubling you?" Bayonetta asked, spearing a slice of pan-seared Arctic char and feeding it to Solomon. He chewed thoughtfully, finally shifting his gaze from the phone on the sofa to the witch in front of him. He'd been waiting for a call, convinced that trouble would inevitably interrupt his vacation—as it always did.
"It's nothing," Solomon replied. "I'm just feeling uneasy. The winter solstice is approaching, and dark magical creatures are becoming more active. After my birthday this year, I'll have to join Kamar-Taj's annual hunting squads."
"That won't be a problem for you, right? That's not what's really on your mind." Bayonetta gestured to Solomon's attire—red saint's cloth layered under a black occult robe. The thin garments seemed ill-suited for northern Europe's biting pre-winter chill, but Solomon insisted on wearing them. Bayonetta, perceptive as ever, had already seen through his reasoning.
"Fine," Solomon admitted, feeding the Cheshire Cat the other half of his fishcake. The lazy feline refused to sit up, opting to eat lying down with its limbs sprawled out. As he absentmindedly petted the cat's rounded belly, Solomon continued, "Remember what I told you about Mephisto's progeny? I can't shake the feeling that something's off. They're too well-hidden, even for the Cosmic Cauldron. I suspect someone is helping them.
"Then there's the winter solstice, when dark magical creatures become more active. I'm worried these two events will converge into something catastrophic. Kamar-Taj has drastically reduced the number of dark magical creatures on Earth, but they're not entirely extinct. Even if Mephisto's incarnation doesn't possess the half-demon, those creatures might still offer their souls to him in exchange for power—to oppose Kamar-Taj. This year's winter solstice could be chaotic, and I might end up busier than ever."
"Sounds like you need help," Jeanne remarked, casting him a sidelong glance. "You could've just asked directly. Don't forget—you're the least capable fighter in this household."
"Meow!" The Cheshire Cat chimed in, not missing the chance to jab at Solomon. Annoyed, he flicked its forehead with a finger.
"Shut up, dumb cat. You're the weakest in this house," Solomon shot back, passing a giant roasted scallop to Bayonetta and Jeanne. The shellfish had been grilled over coals and returned to its shell for warmth, requiring no seasoning—a rare culinary delight.
He invited Dana to sit and join the meal. Though she was a construct, part of her body was derived from Solomon's life force, giving her a functioning sense of taste. While she couldn't derive energy from food, digesting small amounts was no problem.
"Alright," Solomon said, his golden eyes gleaming with determination. "This time, it's our family's turn to take action."
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