Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 652 The Curse of the Boone Family (First Update)

The shadow of nightmares once again loomed over Wanda. She dreamt of an old man in a black robe standing on an altar, his face pale and withered, below him a group of inbreeding, senile faces that resembled him. Ugly, deformed limbs swayed to the unbearable sound of a flute. She dreamt of an eyeless, noseless baby lying in a woman's arms, the mad woman pointing at the gloomy sky and weeping, muttering blasphemous words. She dreamt of a man standing beneath a spire, and a giant gray monster emerging from the depths of the earth, half a mutilated face peeking out from the broken floor of a church.

She recognized that face! Not long ago, right by the altar!

The sweltering summer clouds made it hard to breathe. Ravens screech and pounced on the roof of the car. Wanda struggled to wake up in the passenger seat, her back drenched in sweat. "I was asleep?" The witch's breathing was short and shallow, as if she hadn't yet emerged from that frenzied dream.

"Yes." Salomon nodded, sensing the trembling magical light of the distorted pentagram. He knew perfectly well that Wanda had a terribly obscene dream, and the precautions had awakened her from it to prevent her from falling into deeper darkness. Wanda shivered and told the arcane mage everything about her dream, leaving nothing out.

"Your intuition is too strong. You read things that a normal spellcaster couldn't foresee just by touching a corpse." Salomon's expression remained unchanged, but he slightly increased his speed. The Aston Martin roared across the road. "This is not a good thing, Wanda. Control yourself. In the magical world, talent is a curse, and that applies perfectly to both of us."

Hours earlier, they had come into contact with a vampire's corpse. After examining it, they used their disguised identities to forcibly send the body into the incinerator. This wasn't Wanda's first encounter with death, but it was the most repulsive one. After finishing her work, Wanda vomited violently in a secluded place, seemingly trying to bring up her bile as well. Coupled with her and Salomon's joint spell to foretell the murderer, the exhausted and pale-lipped witch returned to her car and immediately had that dream.

“The Boone family is involved in this. I dreamt of a Boone who presided over a baptism, named James, because someone called his name.” Wanda fought back nausea as she recalled the increasingly hazy dream. “It was a man who looked similar to James Boone, bald, pale, but much younger. Descendants of the Mayflower passengers exist in Chapel White and Vicar's Corner. I remember a folklorist mentioning that the leader of the Protestant secession was named James Boone, and that he supposedly lived to be eighty.”

"A place of superstition, an era of superstition. Belief in witchcraft, belief in virginity, and incestuous marriages and relationships caused by religious authority. It turns out that Protestantism and their reformed goal, Catholicism, weren't so different after all." Salomon recalled the records and obituaries he found in England, as well as the diary of the mad Charles Boone—in the 18th century, Robert and Philip of the Boone family fell out. Robert moved to Massachusetts, while Philip's family remained, and then tragic disappearances and deaths loomed over the family, from father to son to grandchildren, all dying violent deaths: broken necks, disappearances, murders, suicides. It was said that the Boone family's falling out was related to the cult members Philip Boone associated with, and that the subsequent overnight annihilation of Jerusalem was also related to this. He also remembered the seller's complaint about the infestation of rats in his house, scratching at the walls and keeping him awake—a phenomenon mentioned by Charles Boone, and also by James Robert Boone, the seller's ancestor and descendant of Robert Boone's illegitimate son. In retrospect, this may not be the hallucination of an addict, nor a sanitation problem caused by the terrible environment of the slums, but rather the blood debt and curse of the Boone family from hundreds of years ago that crossed the Atlantic, returned to Scotland, and descended upon the last bloodline of the Boone family.

"Perhaps Philip Boone isn't dead, perhaps that cult old man is the vampire we're looking for." Salomon and Wanda had been processing the possibilities of this terrifying hypothesis throughout the journey. James Boone could very well be a survivor of the Church of Colonzan, a family that had thrived in North America, bringing with them the faith of the stars. Salomon had been waiting for evidence from the Immortal City's combat team in Scotland to confirm this. They hadn't stopped in any towns except for refueling, until they reached their destination. After several hours of driving, the sky had completely darkened, dark clouds swallowing the last glimmer of light on the horizon, even lightning unable to penetrate the almost suffocating cloud cover.

Nightjars began to gather, and an ominous premonition filled the air.

Before getting out of the car, Salomon glanced at the data panel one last time; the intelligence department had begun arresting cultists in Scotland.

"Come, the storm is coming. Let us go to the place where it all began, Jerusalem, and see for ourselves."

"Don't do that, Tony Stark. This is none of your business." Agent Hand coldly stared at the billionaire in the holographic projection. The movements of the Sky Carrier couldn't be hidden from Tony Stark's satellites at all. Agent Hand hadn't expected that the idiots in Congress would actually allow the launch of a satellite of this caliber. Nobody knew how much money Stark Industries had spent on lobbying groups, just to feed those idiots in the White House and Congress.

“Then you should tell me what Salomon is doing, Agent Hand. What mission could possibly warrant deploying three Sky Carriers?” Tony Stark turned his head, out of Agent Hand’s sight. Immediately afterward, Steve Rogers’ face appeared on another screen. He was on the same channel as Stark, but he didn’t echo Stark’s words. The Sky Carriers’ movements were making many uneasy, including the Avengers. “I didn’t let Congress know about this, ma’am. The old man has been preventing me from doing so,” Stark said. “So, give me a reason for not informing Congress.”

"No comment."

"Agent Hand, is this related to magic?" Steve Rogers, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly asked.

"No comment."

"I understand. How does it compare to the Devil's Son incident? Is an emergency evacuation necessary?"

"No comment."

"I've had enough! I can deduce the Sky Carrier's movements from the Avengers' satellite surveillance reports." Stark shrugged. "Why Maine and Scotland? What's going on there?"

"We're not some chivalrous organization, Tony Stark. Our mission is to solve supernatural threats, not some petty squabble like S.H.I.E.L.D. The affairs of any nation are none of our business." Agent Hand's expression was impassive, her tone as stern as a teacher reprimanding a student. She shoved aside the peeking Kasirius, preventing the arcane mages from entering the frame. "Listen up, you megalomaniac! Your opinions don't matter. Stop interfering with the Immortal City's mission; your meddling will only make things worse! Kamar-Taj and the Immortal City are capable of solving this! That applies to everyone, including you, Captain Rogers. Take the Avengers and get away from our objective. If you interfere with the mission, I won't hold back!"

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(End of this chapter)