Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

This was exactly why Evenson hated dealing with intelligence professionals.

Give them even the tiniest bit of personal information, and they would dig it up, catalog it, and save it for the precise moment when you were feeling smug enough to get slapped with it.

Unfortunately, Nick Fury had just done exactly that.

Evenson hadn’t even had time to defend himself before Claire, who had been sitting nearby flipping through a magazine, suddenly slammed it onto the table.

Her eyes locked onto him.

They were cold.

Very cold.

Evenson’s stomach sank.

Oh, hell.

So the bastard had money after all.

Claire had known him for ages, and the entire time he’d been whining about how poor he was. Fine, she didn’t care about expensive designer handbags and luxury goods. If he didn’t want to buy her one, whatever.

But there had been that one collector’s edition game she’d really wanted.

It wasn’t even particularly expensive.

She’d mentioned it to him because, just once, she wanted to experience what it felt like to receive a gift from someone.

And what had Evenson done?

He’d somehow managed to cross half the planet’s internet restrictions, traveled digitally to another continent, and downloaded a perfectly cracked version of the game for her.

Then he’d proudly presented it to her with a grin.

There had been only one problem.

The entire game was in English.

Claire had needed an English-Chinese dictionary just to play it.

The more she remembered, the worse she felt.

Her glare grew increasingly murderous.

Evenson shifted uneasily.

"Claire?"

She stared at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

For a moment, Claire seriously considered telling him exactly what she was thinking.

Maybe she should simply confiscate his salary card and manage his finances herself.

Then she reconsidered.

Completely cutting off Evenson’s access to money might have unintended consequences.

For example, it might drive him straight into the arms of those two succubus sisters.

And honestly, lecturing Evenson about dignity or self-respect was pointless.

Trying to make that man care about such things was an excellent way to ruin one’s own day.

So Claire swallowed what she had been about to say.

She glared at him instead.

"What are you looking at me for? Nobody asked me!"

Then she turned her attention back to the original question.

"Are you actually poor, or are you just cheap?"

Unfortunately for Claire, she didn’t know that after Evenson’s unforgettable night with the Eredar twins, his physical salary card might still be in his possession, but his mobile banking app was now installed on their phones.

Evenson fell silent.

"Hmm..."

He sniffed, looking genuinely wounded.

Then, in a tiny voice, he muttered two words.

"Poor and cheap."

"What?!"

Claire and Nick Fury spoke at exactly the same time.

Evenson immediately turned toward Fury.

"Director, I haven’t dared spend a single cent of the money you’ve given me!"

His face twisted with emotion.

His eyes became suspiciously watery.

He slowly raised one finger.

"I grew up in an orphanage. I was poor my entire childhood. I’m terrified of going back to that life."

His voice trembled.

"When I see all that money sitting safely in my account, I feel the same way a player feels when they open their inventory and see it packed with legendary gear."

He pressed a hand against his chest.

"Only then can I sleep peacefully."

Nick Fury clutched his chest.

His heart genuinely seemed to hurt.

"Good grief..."

He stared at Evenson.

"If you ever went into acting, you’d probably win an Oscar."

"Exactly."

Evenson nodded earnestly.

"And if a movie studio hired me, they could probably save money on special effects and give the budget to me instead."

Fury’s expression darkened.

"I’m seriously considering ordering the pilot to turn this plane around and fly back to Tahiti."

Evenson blinked.

"For what?"

"I’d use the surgical equipment we originally prepared for Coulson on you."

Evenson shuddered.

"Let’s not do that."

During his recent visit to the facility, he’d taken the opportunity to inspect the automated surgical arms prepared for Coulson’s neurosurgery.

The long, needle-like instruments had been enough to make his skin crawl.

Fury sighed.

He had encountered plenty of superheroes over the years.

Real ones.

Fictional ones.

Characters from comics and novels.

And somehow, every single one seemed to share the same basic trait.

They were generous.

They treated money like it was beneath them.

They spent their days saving people without asking for payment and somehow never seemed particularly worried about paying the bills afterward.

Then there was Evenson.

A completely unprecedented specimen.

A superhero who could apparently accumulate wealth while behaving as though he were one missed paycheck away from bankruptcy.

Fury looked at Evenson’s pitiful expression.

He knew perfectly well that most of it was an act.

Still, his heart softened a little.

Fury tugged at his coat.

"Fine. How about I give you this one?"

Evenson’s eyes immediately lit up.

But before he could accept, Fury glanced down at himself and changed his mind.

"No."

Evenson froze.

"You can’t pull the shoulders off it."

Evenson’s eye twitched.

There was nothing he could do about that.

They were roughly the same height, with Evenson perhaps even having a slight advantage.

But Fury was broader.

Considerably broader.

"Fine."

Evenson saw that Fury clearly wasn’t going to give up on making him presentable.

He reluctantly compromised.

"If you really insist, just give me one of those suits issued to senior agents."

The suits weren’t bespoke, but they were wool. They were ready-made, reasonably respectable, and considerably better than what he was wearing.

Fury blinked.

"Didn’t they already issue you one?"

Evenson stared at him.

Fury thought for a moment.

"No, wait. That’s strange."

He frowned.

"At the time, I had someone ask the consultants what they preferred. Apparently, half of our consultants preferred wearing their own suits."

"Of course they did!"

Evenson nearly spat in Fury’s face.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has exactly two consultants!"

He pointed at himself.

"Me."

Then he pointed toward the invisible direction of New York.

"And Tony Stark."

Evenson stared at Fury as though the answer should have been painfully obvious.

"Do you have any idea how much money that man has?"

Fury remained silent.

"Do you have any idea what kind of family he comes from?"

Fury sighed.

"Fine. I’ll have one issued to you."

That settled it.

Evenson nodded approvingly.

"Great. Make sure they give me several."

Fury’s eyebrow twitched.

"I need enough to rotate them."

He paused.

"And I don’t think these things can be hand-washed."

Fury’s eye began twitching.

"So while you’re at it, could you send me a dry-cleaning machine?"

"I’ll build you a textile factory."

Fury’s veins stood out on his forehead.

He spun around and stormed out of the room.

If he stayed another minute, he was going to die for the cause of world peace, and Evenson would be personally responsible for his posthumous martyrdom.

Evenson watched him disappear.

Then he turned around, walked straight over, and dropped onto the sofa beside Claire.

"Claire, I need to discuss something with you."

Claire buried her face deeper in her magazine.

"Is this about your mission?"

Her voice was muffled by the pages.

"Going to tell some little girl your legendary stories about magic."

She paused.

"And apparently she’s the daughter of some incredibly wealthy family."

The bitterness in her voice was almost tangible.

Evenson grinned.

"Why does that sound so jealous?"

Claire’s eyes narrowed behind the magazine.

Evenson wisely stopped before he pushed his luck too far.

His expression became serious.

"You don’t need to worry about it. Truly powerful families don’t make their moves on the surface."

He leaned back.

"That girl..."

He paused.

"Actually, she’s a year older than me. Calling her a little girl isn’t exactly accurate. She should probably be called a grown woman."

Claire lowered the magazine slightly.

Evenson continued.

"Her wanting to hear my stories is just an excuse. The real reason is that her father wants to recruit me."

"Recruit you?"

Claire finally lowered the magazine completely.

The word had caught her attention.

She stared at Evenson.

"Isn’t the oldest and most effective way to recruit someone through marriage?"

Evenson’s expression went blank.

"...What?"

The possibility hit him like a brick.

Right.

He’d been thinking entirely in terms of money.

But what if Gideon Malick wasn’t planning to offer him money?

What if the man suddenly announced that he wanted Evenson to marry his daughter?

Absolutely not.

Evenson could negotiate almost anything else.

Money.

Resources.

Equipment.

Information.

Whatever.

But marriage?

No.

Evenson immediately made up his mind.

He slipped an arm around Claire’s shoulders.

"Don’t worry."

Claire glanced at him.

"Marriage alliances depend on who you’re marrying. Do you really think an alliance with the Malicks could possibly compare to an alliance with Kamar-Taj?"

"Hmph."

Claire leaned against him and closed her eyes.

But the thought of Melinda’s warning suddenly resurfaced.

In the past, Evenson had deliberately kept his strength hidden. He’d stayed quiet, kept his head down, and made sure nobody paid too much attention to him.

That was no longer possible.

Now that he’d begun revealing what he could really do, he was like a flower finally opening in the sun.

And flowers attracted butterflies.

Lots of them.

If Claire didn’t hold on tightly enough...

Someone else might take him away.

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