Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

Neither Coulson nor May noticed when the book appeared on the desk.

One moment the tabletop was empty.

The next, a black leather-bound tome rested there as though it had always belonged.

Its cover was etched with incomprehensible runes. Even without touching it, the leather looked disturbingly soft, with the clammy sheen of aged human skin.

Both agents stared.

Completely.

Their eyes locked onto the book.

Their expressions became vacant, as if every thought they possessed had been swallowed by the object before them.

"Hey."

Evenson’s sharp voice snapped through the silence.

The two agents jolted awake simultaneously.

"What did you just see?" he asked as he casually picked up the book and tucked it away right in front of them.

Coulson rubbed his dry eyes.

"...Sorry. I must have zoned out."

He frowned.

"What did you say?"

May stared at him.

"You don’t remember?"

"Remember what?"

"The book," she said slowly. "It was sitting right there."

"What book?"

Coulson looked genuinely bewildered.

"What are you talking about?"

May’s face changed instantly.

She shot to her feet.

Her pistol cleared its holster in one smooth motion.

The muzzle locked onto Evenson’s forehead.

"What did you do to him?"

"Calm down, May!"

Coulson stood as well, trying to de-escalate the situation despite having no idea what was happening.

"He tampered with your mind!"

She never took her eyes off Evenson.

"You erased his memory."

Then her voice turned cold.

"Undo whatever trick you’re pulling, or I swear I’ll paint the wall with your brains."

Coulson drew his own sidearm.

He still didn’t understand the situation, but he trusted May’s judgment.

"Mr. Richter..."

"Can you explain this?"

Evenson sighed.

"This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid."

He looked at them almost apologetically.

"Weaken."

The spell left his lips almost lazily.

Thud.

Clatter.

Both veteran agents collapsed back into their chairs.

Their pistols slipped from numb fingers and struck the floor.

Breathing suddenly felt like lifting weights.

Every heartbeat demanded effort.

Even drawing air into their lungs became exhausting.

Only years of elite training kept them conscious.

An ordinary person would likely have collapsed entirely. A sufficiently weakened heart might not even have managed another beat.

Nearby, Habbs trotted over, picked up both pistols in his mouth, and proudly delivered them to his master.

He wagged his tail expectantly.

Dog food?

Evenson smiled.

"Go play."

The hellhound snorted and wandered off.

Evenson inspected one of the pistols, pulled the slide back, and ejected a live round.

"Loaded."

He nodded appreciatively.

"You two really don’t take chances."

Coulson struggled to speak.

"...Mr... Richter..."

"...this won’t... end well..."

May managed something considerably shorter.

"...Screw... you..."

Evenson couldn’t even blame her.

"I really didn’t want things to go this way."

He set the pistols on the counter.

The so-called Book of the Dead didn’t exist.

He had invented it on the spot.

If he ever wanted to write one, he probably could cobble something together.

But what he’d actually shown them was simply the Complete Warlock Spell Compendium.

According to his understanding, neither Coulson nor May should have been able to focus on the book.

Even if it sat directly in front of them, their minds would instinctively overlook it.

Once he distracted them and put it away, they should have forgotten it had ever existed.

That had been the plan.

Unfortunately...

May hadn’t forgotten.

"Listen," Evenson said.

"I have absolutely no intention of harming either of you."

"If I did..."

He picked up both pistols.

"...this conversation would’ve ended already."

He pointed one at his own chest.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Three shots echoed through the shop.

The bullets stopped several inches from his body.

A translucent blue barrier shimmered into existence, catching the rounds effortlessly before they dropped harmlessly onto the floor.

"Shadow Ward."

He shrugged.

"Just a basic spell."

"You couldn’t have hurt me anyway."

Then he looked toward May.

"And for the record, if you’re still insisting on ’screw me,’ I’d prefer you schedule that for after business hours."

May glared murderously.

Evenson clapped his hands once.

"The spell’s over."

"Please don’t draw your guns again."

The crushing weakness vanished instantly.

Both agents sucked in deep breaths as strength flooded back into their limbs.

They slowly straightened in their chairs.

"Feeling better?" Evenson asked with genuine concern.

Smack!

Before he could react, May stepped forward and slapped him across the face with enough force to snap his head sideways.

"Ow!"

She calmly flexed her wrist.

"Much."

"Better."

"And now I’ve officially gotten that out of my system."

Evenson rubbed the bright red handprint forming on his cheek.

"...Creative."

"I really should’ve cast Demon Skin first."

Served him right.

Mocking a close-quarters combat specialist while standing within arm’s reach was never a brilliant strategy.

Especially when said specialist had just recovered from being magically debilitated.

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Now that everyone has... expressed themselves..."

"Would you mind explaining what just happened?"

"Of course."

Evenson nodded.

"Agent Coulson."

"Think back."

"After you asked where the Book of the Dead was, I answered, ’Right here.’"

"What do you remember between that moment... and when I woke you up?"

Coulson closed his eyes.

He searched carefully.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

It wasn’t blurry.

It simply... wasn’t there.

Like a section of film that had been cleanly cut out of a reel.

"...Nothing."

He opened his eyes.

"I remember absolutely nothing."

He glanced toward May.

"So... according to her... there really was a book?"

Then realization struck.

"...The Book of the Dead."

"You showed it to us."

"And I forgot the entire event."

Evenson nodded.

"Exactly."

"So..." Coulson hesitated.

"...did you erase my memory?"

"Of course not."

Evenson looked offended.

"What possible reason would I have to show you a dangerous artifact only to delete your memory afterward?"

"If I didn’t want you to know about it, I’d simply claim it had been destroyed centuries ago."

"Or locked away in the Vatican."

"It would’ve been much easier."

Coulson considered that.

He couldn’t find a flaw in the logic.

Evenson continued.

"This was an accident."

"Remember what I said?"

"Someone unsuitable for becoming a Warlock instinctively fears that book."

"Someone who lacks even the potential for initiation..."

"...can’t truly perceive it."

"They may technically see it."

"But unless someone deliberately forces their attention onto it..."

"...their mind immediately rejects the memory."

He looked directly at Coulson.

"Exactly what happened to you."

"I only showed you the book because I wanted proof."

"Proof that I wasn’t lying."

"When I say someone lacks the talent to learn magic..."

"I mean it literally."

Coulson leaned back heavily.

"So this was your way of proving that S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t simply force you to hand over magic and mass-produce Warlock agents."

The realization was discouraging.

If learning magic were merely difficult...

S.H.I.E.L.D. could overcome difficult.

If it were dangerous...

They accepted dangerous.

But if the candidates literally couldn’t perceive the knowledge...

There was no training program in the world that could fix that.

Then another thought hit him.

His head turned sharply toward May.

She was staring thoughtfully at Evenson.

Coulson’s eyes slowly widened.

"...Wait."

"...She could see it."

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