Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 129 Abigail Williams (First Update!)

Agent Coulson's approachable demeanor eased the girls' initial hostility. The boldest girl, Ann Putman with her red hair, volunteered to lead the way, while nine-year-old Elizabeth Paris remained hidden behind Salomon. This round-faced girl was always afraid of Natasha Romanoff because her father had often instilled in her terrifying witch tales; in her eyes, a woman as beautiful as Natasha must be associated with witches. Elizabeth's friends were also curious about her unusual quietness, but when they saw Salomon's face half-lit and half-shadowed in the firelight, they chuckled knowingly.

A little girl in the countryside always fantasizes about what her future husband will be like—a young, strong farmer or a wandering sailor? At the age of adolescence, Salomon, whose facial features are changing from round to sharp, captures the heart of Elizabeth Paris. Elizabeth also believes that her father will accept a student from London.

As for Salomon's thoughts, well, nobody asked him about that.

Compared to a beauty like Natasha Romanoff, unseen in a small town, Coulson, with his gentlemanly demeanor, was much more acceptable. At least, that's what Ann Putman, the leader of the group of girls, thought. Agent Coulson looked like a pampered gentleman; if not an aristocrat, he was at least a clean-cut scholar. His wrinkles weren't weathered by the sun, his eyes weren't constantly red from the sea breeze, and he didn't smell like livestock. Wherever he went, everyone would assume he was someone who had never done manual labor.

As for Natasha Romanoff… Ann Putman didn’t want to comment, because that form-fitting clothing, made of some unknown material, was simply too indecent. Natasha’s curvaceous figure was far too alluring to men; even prostitutes in big cities wouldn’t dress like that. Ann had heard sailors at the docks talk about London’s SoHo district, and in her mind, those morally corrupt women must be exactly like Natasha.

Along the way, they heard nothing but a few sporadic, urgent barks. Coulson and Ann Putman walked in front, followed by two other girls, Salomon and Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow agent seemed to know this wasn't the place to talk; though puzzled, she didn't ask many questions. The girls seemed to frequent this clearing; carrying lanterns, they followed a bush-shaded path familiarly toward the village. Salomon pondered the reason for his arrival here and the cause of this inexplicable time travel. What had triggered all of this?

Was it Abigail Williams? Or something else he didn't know? Salomon wasn't sure. He could only be certain of one thing: the Venerable One had seen him end the event through the Eye of Agamotto; otherwise, he wouldn't have sent him to Salem. And the Venerable One's insistence on sending him alone might also be because the matter was actually related to him.

Could it be… a Stigmata? Salomon thought of that poor, insane wretch. But so far, he knew far too little, only that he was in 1692. He could only assume for now that killing Abigail Williams would resolve the matter. If possible, he planned to find a place to open a portal to Kamar-Taj and speak with the Sorcerer Supreme of 1692 about this. He believed that with the Supreme's knowledge, he should be able to offer a solution.

Agent Coulson skillfully used his influence during his conversation with Ann Putman, easily extracting a great deal of information from her. For example, Ann Putman had a distant cousin named Alice Parker who lived in town; Alice was a pious, almost obnoxious girl who carried a Bible with her every day. Ann Putman mentioned that she had a tall, athletic friend named Margaret, who had been pursued by many young men in town. She also introduced another girl besides Elizabeth, Mary Walcott, who sang with them and was a helper in the Putman household.

Besides that, there were some trivial matters about the town. After Ann Putman finished her rambling, she started asking Coulson questions, like what London was like and what Boston was like. This topic caught the attention of the other two girls, who, like many small-town girls, dreamed of going to big cities.

Salomon reminded Coulson here, "I found my mentor before I went to college. Mr. Coulson is my history professor, and I plan to take his courses."

"I'm rarely in London because I travel all over the world for archaeological work. Mr. Damonette had just started as my assistant when we got separated," Agent Coulson quickly continued. "We're here this time to..."

"Studying local customs and historical sites." Romanov glanced at Salomon; she hadn't expected a sorcerer to be so prone to lying. She had always thought mages were all eccentric, somewhat naive types.

"Yes, that's right." Agent Coulson nodded. "Folklore, this might be related to Native American relics..."

"Indigenous people?!" Mary Walcott exclaimed, raising her voice. "It was the indigenous people who killed Abigail's parents!"

“That’s right!” Elizabeth frowned as well. “Father said that they were all sinners who had never heard the voice of God, and were outright heretics.”

Salomon glared at Coulson, surprised that this history major had made such a dogmatic mistake. "Don't worry," the sorcerer explained, "we're not some kind of indigenous sympathizers, not even at Oxford."

The name Abigail also reminded Agent Coulson of the Salem witch trials. He asked Ann Putman, "What's the date today?"

"November 21th."

Coulson took a deep breath—the Salem massacre was just days away, something he'd learned about in his American history studies. Answering Ann Putman was clearly torture; she even asked Coulson why he'd bring a prostitute on such an adventure—were all London gentlemen like that?

Natasha Romanoff glared at the girl, while Coulson looked embarrassed and didn't know how to respond for a moment. After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't speak like a professor or a seventeenth-century Puritan. "I'm a maid, Mr. Damonette's maid," Natasha said, remembering Salomon's accent, and thus extricated herself from the awkward situation. "Mr. Damonette... oh, Sir Damonette, I take care of his daily life, even during our adventures."

Salomon glanced at Natasha in surprise, wondering what this woman was up to. In fact, Natasha was preparing for their stay in the town; she wanted to find an opportunity to be alone with Salomon to understand the whole story. Coulson thought for a few seconds and understood Natasha's intention. He thought it was a good opportunity; since they had followed Salomon in, questioning him was the right thing to do.

"Everything?" Elizabeth looked up and asked.

"Of course, everything, little sister, including the kind you're thinking of."

Elizabeth blushed and lowered her head. Salomon glared at Natasha, but the woman simply smiled at him without offering any explanation. When the group could vaguely see the dim lights of the town, a girl came running up, panting. Only when she got closer did they see what she looked like.

She had long, smooth, golden hair, tied with several cute bows. She wore a light-colored black felt hat, and her pale calves, visible beneath her tightly tucked pumpkin pants, were very slender. Even in April, when the snow was melting, her attire was quite thin.

"An!" The little girl came running up, panting, and stopped in front of the group. "I've been looking for you... Didn't we agree that we couldn't sing the curse song today?! Ah, who are they?"

"Are they here... to study, or to dig for something?" Ann Putman said. "Anyway, they're from London."

"Outsiders?" The girl's interest was immediately piqued. "You must have traveled to many places, right?"

The trio of outsiders all nodded. Coulson and Natasha, of course, were agents, and Salomon had also traveled to many places via portals. "So you must have been to Boston?!" The girl's eyes lit up; in her mind, Boston was the biggest city.

"In fact, we just passed through Boston," Agent Coulson said. He wasn't very familiar with Boston at that time, so he claimed he wasn't either.

"If you may, could you tell me about big cities?" the girl asked. "London, New York, either is fine. My uncle often tells me his adventure stories, but lately he's been leaving home very early... Oh, right, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Abigail Williams, you can just call me Abigail."

No one could tell that the tall, thin 11-year-old girl before them was the same girl who had denounced several villagers in the Salem massacre, leading to her trial. Agent Coulson blinked. Salomon straightened up, his hand behind his back subtly gripping his wand, ready to cast a spell at any moment. But Natasha Romanoff held his hand down, refusing to let go even under Salomon's sharp gaze.

"Don't tell me you're so righteous now," she said in a low voice. "She's not like that yet."

"Shut up, Natasha Romanov." Salomon pulled his hand away from her. "This might be the only way to resolve this."

"I won't let you do such a thing. Are you going to use absurd historical records to carry out executions?" Romanov gripped the other end of the wand. "Besides, don't you think about the consequences of what we're doing? Will it affect the future... Don't move. It's made of wood. I can break it at any time once I hold it."

"If you want to be blown up, then go ahead." Salomon frowned deeply. "History may not be true, but Abigail Williams is the key to all of this, and all of this may even... may not be reality!"

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(End of this chapter)