'til we meet again sweetheart
Spring was just starting to make itself known, and Stephen Strange was striding down the sidewalk, reflecting that he could, perhaps, just... let Morgana Blessing actually suffer the consequences of her actions?
Just once? Was it really that selfish? The woman had a complete lack of common sense or self-preservation, and just enough sensitivity to supernatural happenings to make her a menace.
He really did owe Illyana a favor for volunteering to help distract Morgana from trying to tag along to this psychic, though judging by the gleam in her and Kitty's eyes, he'd be paying for it later.
Ah, well. It wasn't raining, wasn't yet the kind of muggy that made going in a subway tunnel a particularly nasty torture, and this would be interesting, at least. It had been suspiciously quiet, and he'd prefer a rogue necromancer to Sentinels or some terrible thing from beyond the stars.
Also, he still hadn't heard from Carol about their bet about Giger, Ridley Scott, and if the resemblance between the Brood and xenomorphs were just a coincidence.
And maybe if he didn't have to dig Morgana out of a new mess, he'd not have to deal with Tony and Maddy Pryor both offering to help... fix the problem.
Being fair, Tony had laughed himself sick after reading bits of Morgana's thinly veiled... daydream in novel form, and then offered the sympathy of a man who'd had a sex tape leak. He'd been very lucky in his friends- even Wong's gentle teasing had been underlaid with an offer to go to the mat for him. Nightcrawler had even offered to come along, just in case Illyana and Kitty's plans went awry.
Ah, well, he thought, looking at the building, which looked like it had been a normal storefront not too long ago, and had the windows currently covered in some sort of film cover that looked like it was taken from modern witchcraft motifs- triple crescents, tarot patterns from the Rider-Waite deck, something that looked like the gates to Moria, complete with silvery lettering. It was the same as much of the pewter lettering on the frosted glass of the door.
He didn't think it was actually Tolkien's Elvish. Most creatures that people would call fae today worked with the languages that were at hand where their courts were anchored. Nor was it anything he was very familiar with.
Aramaic, perhaps? If he didn't see the camera tucked under the awning, he'd snap a picture to send to Noor Rezania out in Istanbul, who specialized in translating those old spells.
The door swung open, and there was a familiar face peering out, giving him a quick wink.
Grace was wearing her black hair in a loose knot that seemed ready to escape, and a dark grey dress that made her coloring even more dramatic while technically being demure.
The bright red shoes that matched her lips rather ruined any hope of her seeming demure
“Are you the last person for this séance?” she asked, the Scots accent faded to nothing. “And here I thought I'd be late.”
“It was meant to start in ten minutes,” Stephen pointed out, stepping in. Technically, the room was lit, but the old parlor feeling meant that the soft yellow lights that failed to reach too far seemed to blend in, with leather armchairs in burgundy, a soft grey rug, and an electric fireplace that should make the room seem too warm.
There was also some sort of incense- if someone picked out the scents, he could tell them what it was, but as for now, he was in the dark.
Everyone seemed to be awake at least. He'd not be able to gage if it was drugged from looking into anyone's eyes- Grace wasn't human, and everyone else's pupils would be enlarged from the deceptive lighting.
“Our host is in the other room,” said a man, wearing a button-up shirt that was both misbuttoned and hanging too loosely on him. Grief and guilt, he thought, catching his hunched shoulders and the circles under his eyes.
“I hope he doesn't keep us waiting too long,” said the last person, a woman who Stephen reflexively filed as one of the 'ladies who lunch.' “Joanne didn't say he made her wait.”
Had Morgana accidentally tipped him off? That would make things difficult.
The door swung open- and Stephen caught the wall move, just a bit. It most likely was a high-end divider, rather than the remodeling this sort of thing would have required. Funds or not planning on keeping the storefront? Morgana said the lease was annual, which was fairly normal.
Grace was at his elbow, slightly clawed fingers tapping his arm as she pretended to be surprised.
Danger, danger, he thought, catching sight of the pendant around the man's neck.
He wasn't meant to stand out with his clothes, Stephen guessed. Oxfords, a pinstriped suit, clean-shaven- a bit shorter than him, but clearly hit the gym.
More vanity than practicality, Stephen guessed, picking up on the understated price of the medium's appearance.
Also, the large green pendant in an intricate spiraling setting that was the only discordant note.
“Miss Learmont,” the medium's tone was smug as he greeted Grace.
Learmont- he remembered that name from somewhere. He'd try to remember it later. If he didn't end up with a concussion.
Grace crossed her arms. “Asshole. You really thought no one would hunt you down?”
“I hoped I'd covered my tracks a little better,” the medium shrugged. “Not that it matters.”
“You stabbed a nymph through the heart,” Grace countered, moving to put herself between the medium and the grief-ridden man. “And bound her spirit so she can't heal in her tree. You're fucking lucky it's me, and not someone else.”
“Like myself?” Stephen asked, cautiously watching as the lady who lunched edged back- entitlement only went so far when you'd lived in New York long enough to recognize the warning signs of a superhero fight.
The medium fiddled with the pendant, and Stephen didn't need to use the Eye to sense the power building up.
He erected a shield to keep the other two out, watching Grace stalk forward in her heels, which made her level with the medium, who ignored the other two fumbling open the door to escape.
...and the medium flung something pale green-white-glow at Grace, something wailing that hollowed out his bones and filled them with dispair.
“Jessamine,” Grace said, evenly. “Come here.”
Stephen lined up a shot while the medium was distracted, sending him sailing back through the door to crash into something heavy- peering in, he confirmed it was one of the heavy antique chairs used for the seances. And then the table itself, which he didn't think had moved all that much.
The spirit wailed again as Grace pulled out a slender branch, tied with scraps of fabric. “Come here, daughter of the leaf and the thorn.”
The medium pulled himself upright, leaning heavily of the table and looking at him with loathing as he twirled the pendant again, calling forth another spirit.
He went with that he thought was the most likely answer, and used a less violent version of a banishment spell. It didn't send the spirit careening right back into the necromancer/medium's crystal cage, but almost held it in an astral hand.
“Come here, so the Huntress of the Midnight Court may bring you home,” Grace finished, pulling the nymph's spirit into the branch.
“You can't do this to me, whoever you are, you're human, you can't let her...” the medium was babbling at him, darting his eyes towards Grace carefully placing the branch into what looked like an old flute case.
“You didn't kill the nymph, just kidnapped her,” Grace offered, the mild words a contrast to her predatory walk. “She'll return safely to her orchard.”
“What about the other spirit?” Stephen asked, enjoying the way the bastard squirmed. He wasn't really going to let him be tortured, but the look on the medium's face answered his question.
“Did you kill them too, Kevin?” she asked, growing close enough to grab his wrist.
“I-I- look, I didn't think it would go...” Kevin the Medium sniveled. It was sad, really.
“You wanted broken spirits,” Grace continued. Her face only moved to form the words, with no blinks, twitches, or smiles. He'd seen it before with other supernaturals, and it was only nominally less disturbing. “Ones who could possess some of your clients?”
“And from there it would be easy enough to drain your victims, financially,” Stephen mused. “You really didn't think anyone would catch on?”
“When I had power, real power, enough to command that bitch over there...” Kevin snarled, and he didn't like that look in his eye. The one that meant he was going to do something stupid and pretend it was because he was being gaslit.
Stephen just knocked him out of his body, taking care to ensure it didn't swap places with anyone or get caught in that pendant he'd need to take with him.
“Do you want him?” Grace asked. “I can go either way.”
“I'll take him,” Stephen sighed. He did need to know what happened to the other spirit before it had been released, not when he could toss the man at some masters and watch them try to get some sense out of him.
“Got it,” Grace said, looking around. “Er, that didn't suck, did it?”
“We seem to work well together,” Stephen offered. She nodded, and gave him a startling kiss on the cheek.
“That we do- so I guess I'll see you soon!” Grace laughed as she vanished, sound echoing as he pulled the chain off of the medium's neck.
No fighting the removal, which was interesting. Artifacts like that were usually worth more.
He'd file it away for later, after Kevin was given to a very tired Wong, and decided to relax. Perhaps see if he could put a Do Not Distrurb on his phone so he didn't have to deal with Morgana. Perhaps turning it off until it was time to go to an Avengers meeting would work...