Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

Melinda stared at Evenson for a long moment.

Only seconds ago, they’d been discussing surveillance, privacy, and S.H.I.E.L.D. policy with deadly seriousness.

Now he was criticizing her wardrobe.

The shift was so abrupt that it completely derailed her train of thought.

Finally, she rolled her eyes.

"I transferred to desk duty," she said. "Coulson mentioned that, didn’t he?"

"He did." Evenson nodded as he thought back. "If I remember correctly, you requested the transfer yourself."

He studied her for another moment.

"It still doesn’t suit you. Not the work, and definitely not the clothes. Why would someone like you choose such a quiet job?"

Something dimmed behind Melinda’s eyes.

"I got tired of the field," she answered softly. "I’ve seen enough death. Enough blood. I wanted something... quieter."

Evenson regarded her in silence before shaking his head.

"I don’t believe you."

Her gaze sharpened.

"I’ve seen enough of you to know you have the heart of a warrior. You were born for the battlefield. Sitting behind a desk filing paperwork would be torture compared to a mission."

He paused.

"And the last time you came here, I saw how desperately you reached for that book."

The memory of the forbidden grimoire still lingered between them.

"That wasn’t the reaction of someone who hates fighting."

Melinda lowered her eyes.

"Fighting means people die."

"Sometimes the enemy."

"Sometimes your friends."

"And sometimes..." Her voice grew quieter. "...people who never should have been caught in the middle."

She fell silent.

"I keep wondering... if I stop fighting... maybe I’ll stop watching people die."

She hadn’t mentioned herself once.

Not because she feared death.

Because she feared surviving it.

Because living with another person’s death was infinitely harder.

A moment later, she frowned.

"...Why am I telling you any of this?"

The realization hit all at once.

She was a veteran S.H.I.E.L.D. operative.

This conversation had gone far beyond what she would normally reveal to someone she’d only met twice.

Evenson hid a faint smile.

Subtle mental influence came naturally to a warlock. He hadn’t controlled her thoughts or forced honesty from her, only nudged aside the walls people instinctively built around themselves.

Anything stronger would have required prying directly into her soul.

He had no intention of doing that.

"There’s nothing wrong with saying it out loud," he replied. "Keeping everything bottled up rarely helps."

He leaned back.

"And whether you’re there or not, the fighting won’t stop."

"The people destined to die won’t suddenly live."

"If anything, removing yourself from the battlefield may simply mean even more people die."

"They just won’t die where you can see them."

He let the words settle.

"So no... I don’t think you’re tired of fighting."

"I think you’re running from it."

"Running away..."

Melinda repeated the phrase under her breath.

After a long silence, she gave a bitter smile.

"Maybe."

"I just don’t want to go through it again."

"Maybe ignorance really is easier."

"That’s an awfully bleak way to look at it." Evenson chuckled lightly. "You should probably see a therapist."

He raised a finger.

"Or..."

"You could hear what a warlock has to say."

"We understand the mind better than most people realize."

"Fine," Melinda said immediately.

Now it was Evenson’s turn to blink.

"I honestly expected you to trust a therapist more than a mysterious warlock."

"We barely know each other."

"My ex-husband was a therapist."

"...Ex-husband?"

Evenson’s eyebrows shot upward.

That genuinely surprised him.

For some reason, he’d always assumed Melinda had either never married or had ended up with another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

A therapist had never entered the list of possibilities.

"Well..."

"...that’s unfortunate."

Melinda looked at him suspiciously.

"Why is my divorce unfortunate to you?"

"I’m serious." Evenson spread his hands. "Given your personality and your career, getting married at all must have been difficult."

"And then it still ended in divorce."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"Honestly, a therapist sounded like the perfect match."

"At least whenever you beat him up, he’d already have the professional tools to process the emotional trauma."

Silence.

Melinda’s face darkened.

Her fingers tightened on the table until the wood creaked beneath the pressure.

In that moment, she felt that not punching his infuriating face into the opposite wall was a display of self-control worthy of sainthood.

Evenson wisely recognized the warning signs.

"Right."

"Comedy break’s over."

He cleared his throat.

"You asked for my advice."

"I’m not going to tell you how to adjust your mindset."

"I’m going to tell you how to solve the problem."

Melinda slowly exhaled.

"How?"

"Power."

His voice became calm and deliberate.

"The only thing I can offer you... is power."

"And the only thing you truly need... is power."

She repeated the word quietly.

"...Power."

"Exactly."

"If you become strong enough, you can protect your teammates."

"You can protect innocent people."

"You can decide how a battle ends instead of merely surviving it."

He watched her expression change.

"When your strength reaches a certain level, you stop reacting to events."

"You shape them."

"The people who deserve to live... live."

"The people who deserve to die... don’t escape."

He leaned forward slightly.

"You already understand this."

"That’s why you reacted the way you did when you saw that book."

"It wasn’t curiosity."

"It was longing."

"Your heart already knows what it wants."

Melinda slowly lifted her head.

"...Is that really what I’ve wanted all along?"

"Yes."

Evenson’s answer came without hesitation.

Then he looked directly into her eyes.

"So tell me."

"Are you willing to accept what your heart has been asking for?"

She hesitated.

"I..."

Her thoughts churned for nearly a minute before she finally whispered,

"...Yes."

Then anxiety returned almost immediately.

"But the book rejected me."

"You said I wasn’t qualified to learn its magic."

"It did."

Evenson shrugged.

"But that isn’t a problem."

"I never intended to teach you spellcasting."

Melinda frowned.

"If not magic... then what?"

"You were able to perceive the grimoire."

"You were rejected, but the backlash was surprisingly mild."

"For someone unsuited to becoming a spellcaster, that’s actually a very good sign."

"There are... other methods."

"They won’t let you cast spells."

"But they can still grant considerable power."

Her eyes widened.

"Really?"

Evenson smiled.

"Do I look like I’m joking?"

She searched his face.

For all his strange humor and unpredictable personality, she had never once caught him lying about something important.

Finally, she nodded.

"Then... how do I obtain this power?"

"Not yet."

His tone softened.

"I’ve decided to give you that opportunity."

"But not now."

"Your state of mind isn’t stable enough."

"When will it be?"

"When you’ve found your balance again."

He paused.

"And I want this conversation to remain strictly between the two of us."

Melinda’s eyes flickered.

"You expect me to hide it from S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I’m telling you the truth."

He smiled faintly.

"Warlock power is dangerous."

"Even among practitioners of dark magic, it’s considered exceptionally hazardous."

"Giving it to the wrong person isn’t kindness."

"It’s a disaster."

"That’s exactly why I’m waiting until your mind is steady."

He held her gaze.

"Can you promise me that?"

After a long silence, she nodded.

"...I can."

Dangerous?

Evil?

Those labels didn’t matter.

If someone trapped in a desperate firefight found a loaded rifle on the ground, they wouldn’t stop to ask who manufactured it.

They’d survive first.

Questions came later.

That was how Melinda saw it.

"Then we have an agreement."

Evenson extended his hand.

She took it.

"We have an agreement."

The instant their hands met, a faint emerald glow spread across his palm.

It flowed into hers like liquid fire.

A sharp burning sensation flared across the back of her hand.

She jerked away instinctively.

A complex green rune blazed across her skin, its intricate lines resembling living emerald flames.

Seconds later, it faded completely.

"What was that?"

"What did you do?"

"Relax."

"It’s only a contract."

"If you ever attempt to reveal our agreement, the contract will erase those memories before you can speak."

He scratched the back of his head.

"I’m still refining the spell."

"So..."

"...there’s a small chance it might erase a little more than intended."

Melinda’s expression hardened.

"So you don’t trust me."

"I do."

He answered without hesitation.

"But do you trust yourself?"

She froze.

"If you keep your promise, the contract will never do anything."

"It’ll be as though it doesn’t exist."

She wanted to argue.

Yet deep down she already knew the answer.

Even if she sincerely intended to keep her word today...

Weeks from now, months from now, her loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. and her duty as an agent would eventually compel her to report everything to Nick Fury.

She couldn’t honestly promise otherwise.

"...Fine."

She turned and headed for the door.

Just before she stepped outside, Evenson called after her.

"Melinda."

"I’m serious."

"Get yourself back on your feet."

"I’m looking forward to what comes next."

Without turning around, she answered,

"I will."

The door closed behind her.

Evenson watched it for several seconds before quietly smiling to himself.

"I’m looking forward to it too."

"When you finally accept the power I offer..."

"...who will your loyalty belong to then, Melinda?"

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