With Bayonetta and Jeanne agreeing to help, Solomon just needed to report the plan to the Sorcerer Supreme and get his approval. He was confident the Sorcerer Supreme wouldn't object. After all, while the witches usually dealt with high-level entities, both the Umbra Witch and the Maiden of the River Styx were more than happy to make trouble for Mephisto. Nothing pleased demons more than seeing another demon humiliated—especially one as notoriously crafty as Mephisto.
After their hearty meal, the witches and Solomon crowded onto the sofa as usual. This time, Bayonetta sat in the middle. Using a spell to obscure their private conversation, the witches whispered to each other, leaving Solomon unable to hear anything. All he could do was absentmindedly massage Bayonetta's foot, clad in soft black stockings, until she suddenly kicked him in the arm.
"You're hurting me, idiot!" she snapped, throwing him a glare. "Still daydreaming about your little spy?"
"I'm just waiting for a call from S.H.I.E.L.D. It has nothing to do with the spy," Solomon said helplessly. He couldn't fathom why Bayonetta harbored such animosity toward Natasha. To his surprise, Jeanne joined in glaring at him—a rare display of unity between the two witches.
"Oh really? But the one calling you is the spy," Jeanne said pointedly. "And didn't you buy her a gift? Fourteen hundred dollars!"
"You're not going to drop this, are you?" Solomon groaned, burying his face in the Cheshire Cat's soft belly. His voice was muffled as he added, "It's just a matter of social etiquette. Everyone gets a different gift depending on what suits them. For Romanoff—Agent Romanoff—those shoes were the perfect choice."
"And what about my gift?" Jeanne demanded, her eyes narrowing. "The last time, you only brought something for Bayonetta."
"For the love of the All-Seeing Agamotto…" Solomon groaned dramatically, covering his face as he let out a string of tortured sighs. Bayonetta, thoroughly amused, collapsed onto Jeanne's lap in laughter.
"Can someone please explain what's wrong with this woman's brain?!" Solomon lamented.
"This is just how women are, Boya," Bayonetta teased, pulling Solomon closer so he could rest against her. "You'd better get used to it. And remember, I'm not exactly easy to deal with either."
"Fine, fine," Solomon muttered, still refusing to open his eyes despite the Cheshire Cat's incessant meowing from the carpet. Thankfully, Dana picked up the chubby cat, soothing its sour mood.
"You win, witches," Solomon said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "It looks like this is my burden to bear for life. Oh! The call is here!" He leapt off the sofa, grabbed his phone, and quickly answered. After listening for a moment, he hung up with a serious expression.
"Well?" Jeanne asked casually, stroking Bayonetta's hair as if she weren't hanging on every word. "Did they find him?"
"The cameras caught Johnny Blaze at a small grocery store in Eastern Europe. He was buying whiskey, bread, and a huge jar of peanut butter," Solomon said, holding up his phone. "I'm not sure how he communicated with the locals—probably not in English, I'd guess." The details were brief, and the full report had been sent as a document to his phone. "We don't have his exact location yet. There aren't many cameras in that area, but given how often he buys alcohol, I'd say he's living somewhere remote. Otherwise, someone would've found him by now."
Cameras had proven more effective than Kamar-Taj's planetary defense system in this case. The planetary defense system, combined with the Eye of Agamotto, was incredibly sensitive—it could detect even a vampire's minor magic. Tracking the Spirit of Vengeance, with its overwhelming magical aura, should have been easy. But Johnny Blaze's nightly transformations into Ghost Rider had left no trace, suggesting either he'd somehow suppressed his transformations or someone was helping him hide. Either way, Solomon intended to find out.
"Are you leaving now?" Bayonetta asked, lightly tapping Solomon's leg with her toe as she noticed him packing supplies into his dimensional bag. Nearby, Dana was wrestling a protesting Cheshire Cat into its little assassin outfit. "It's still daytime."
"It's easier to find something glowing in the dark, sure, but I want to scope out the area first," Solomon explained. "Besides, Johnny Blaze is easier to talk to when he's sober—assuming he ever is."
"I doubt he'll be sober, even during the day," Jeanne said, pointing at the text on Solomon's phone. "A case of whiskey every three days? That sounds like a full-blown alcoholic. For all we know, you'll find him rummaging through trash for leftover liquor."
"Then I'll burn him," Solomon quipped. "Burn him down to just his bones, drag him into the sunlight, and he'll sober up real quick. Bones can't store alcohol. I could even judge how much whiskey he's had by how bright the flames burn. The hotter the fire, the more he's drunk. Genius, right? Don't worry, dear—if I run into something I can't handle, I'll call you."
"Good." Bayonetta smirked and waved him off. "I'll make sure to protect my precious little boy—as long as he remembers to bring back gifts for me and Jeanne. And don't forget to have Dana bring that sword, the one you've been oiling religiously."
"I have no idea what language they speak in Romania, Dana," Solomon muttered, scratching his head. The autumn air in northeastern Balkans was dry and cool, a stark contrast to the damp chill of northern Europe he'd just left. The transition left his throat feeling parched. He also had no clue how Johnny Blaze had ended up here, nor what S.H.I.E.L.D. might be up to in the region. Sharing Ghost Rider's whereabouts with S.H.I.E.L.D. had been the price Solomon paid for this lead, though he had already informed Kamar-Taj and reported the witches' involvement to the Sorcerer Supreme.
"Maybe he rode his motorcycle, Master?" Dana suggested after tilting her head thoughtfully. "You mentioned his magical bike."
"Rode it across the Atlantic, huh?" Solomon snorted. "Sure, if he tied enough plastic bottles to himself to float, he could just sink by day and rise by night." His attempt at humor fell flat—Dana didn't seem to grasp the joke. Sighing, Solomon gestured toward a nearby supermarket with his chin.
"Let's check it out," he said. "If the whiskey stock hasn't been cleaned out, Johnny Blaze will probably show up again."
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