Chapter 702

The following day, London, England.

The Kamar-Taj London Temple stood within an expansive estate that looked every inch the home of old British nobility. Compared with the temples in New York and Hong Kong, it was considerably more grand.

That was hardly surprising. Most of the sorcerers here were British-born and rather fond of calling themselves gentlemen. They cared about appearances, comfort, and maintaining a certain standard of living.

It also happened to make the London Temple the weakest of the three when it came to actual combat.

The Ancient One wasn’t particularly fond of the place, either.

She lived simply, practiced restraint, and carried herself with the discipline of a saint. The aristocratic habits of the London sorcerers naturally rubbed her the wrong way.

Though, if Evenson had to guess, there was probably another reason.

London might be the Ancient One’s homeland, but she was a Celt. The sorcerers who ran this temple, on the other hand, were largely Saxons.

That probably explained a thing or two.

Still, after living as long as the Ancient One had, she had long since stopped caring about the rise and fall of peoples and nations. At most, the matter remained a small thorn somewhere in the back of her mind. She certainly never let it affect how she treated the London Temple.

Like the other Sanctums, the temple had a large training ground.

The difference was that Hong Kong’s training grounds were paved with broad slabs of stone. Here, the sorcerers had opted for manicured lawns dotted with flower beds, each section carefully separated to create what they considered a more refined atmosphere.

On one side of the grounds, Clea was taking a leisurely walk with a Chinese-American woman whose long black hair fell past her shoulders.

"Watson, settling in all right?"

"More or less."

Watson considered her answer carefully.

"The people here are very... enthusiastic."

Clea smiled, apparently missing the hesitation in her voice.

"Good. You and Sherlock were recommended by Evenson, after all. It wouldn’t do for us to give our guests a poor impression of Kamar-Taj. We have standards."

"We’re very grateful."

Watson gave a polite nod.

The living arrangements really were excellent. It was the constant afternoon tea and the frequent formal gatherings that she found difficult to tolerate.

Even Sherlock, who was British himself, had already had enough.

Watson glanced around.

"Speaking of Evenson, isn’t he with you?"

Evenson had arranged for Sherlock and Watson to study at Kamar-Taj through Clea, so naturally they knew that he had come to London with her.

They had seen Clea.

They had not seen Evenson.

Clea’s lips curled into an exasperated smile.

"Him? When we arrived, Master Malgani wasn’t exactly respectful toward our German-American friend. He’s probably somewhere inside right now, contemplating the consequences of his life choices."

Master Malgani was the leader of the London Temple.

Although he had devoted himself to Kamar-Taj, he had retained his aristocratic status in British society. Rumor had it that he held both the title of British lord and Dutch count, and the land occupied by the London Temple had belonged to his family for generations.

To his credit, he still respected Kamar-Taj’s rules. He had never used sorcery to interfere with his affairs in the outside world.

But his background had given him a natural sense of superiority toward Germans, particularly German-Americans.

If Clea hadn’t been his equal in seniority, and if he weren’t worried that Master Olivian might occasionally challenge him to a sparring match, he probably would have treated Clea with the same condescension.

When Evenson and Clea first arrived, Malgani had dutifully come out to welcome them as the host.

Unfortunately, his welcome consisted of a barrage of polished Oxford English delivered with the unmistakable air of an aristocrat demonstrating his sophistication to a peasant.

Evenson hadn’t appreciated it.

So he’d answered in equally polished Oxford English.

Then the two men had wandered off to one side and continued politely insulting each other in an escalating series of languages.

Clea knew Evenson’s linguistic talent well enough to expect him to emerge victorious, perhaps even wielding a little fan while Malgani coughed blood from the verbal beating.

Instead, Evenson came trudging back, rubbing his face.

"Don’t get your hopes up."

He spread his hands.

"I couldn’t beat him when he switched to Old English."

Clea sighed.

"Then I suppose his ego is somewhere in orbit by now."

"Not quite."

Evenson shrugged.

"I put a language curse on him."

Clea blinked.

"He can only speak Eredar now. Nothing else."

He looked rather pleased with himself.

"He’s probably in his room right now trying not to tie his tongue into a knot."

Many Eredar sounds were simply impossible for a human mouth to reproduce properly. Trying to force them out was practically guaranteed to result in a spectacular tongue cramp.

If Malgani wanted to play dirty, Evenson could play dirty too.

"I may not be able to outtalk you," Evenson had clearly decided, "but I can still ruin your afternoon."

Evenson turned toward Watson and gave her a casual wave.

"Hey, Watson."

Then he looked around.

"Where’s your partner?"

Watson had just wondered why Evenson wasn’t with Clea.

Now Evenson was wondering why Sherlock wasn’t with Watson.

Watson pointed toward the other side of the grounds.

"Over there."

The resignation in her voice made Evenson suspicious.

He followed her gesture.

Then stopped dead.

Sherlock Holmes was upside down.

Not merely upside down, either.

He was balancing on two fingers of one hand, his legs crossed in a full lotus position, while his other hand was held against his chest in a complex mystical gesture.

Evenson stared.

What the hell?

This was London, wasn’t it?

Not India.

Not Nepal.

Was Sherlock doing yoga?

Unable to make heads or tails of it, Evenson pointed.

"What’s he doing?"

"He’s..."

Watson spread her hands helplessly.

"Finding inner peace."

"Is he planning to become a monk?"

Evenson paused.

Then understanding dawned.

"Wait. Is the Extremis energy acting up again? Does he need to calm it down?"

Sherlock and Watson had both been injected with the Extremis virus by Killian.

Officially, Evenson had claimed to have removed its effects.

In reality, he’d deliberately preserved the power within their bodies.

Sending them to Kamar-Taj was partly an experiment. He wanted to see whether the mystic techniques of the sorcerers could be used to control the biological energy produced by Extremis.

So seeing Sherlock performing something that looked like mystical meditation, Evenson naturally assumed the experiment had run into trouble.

"Not at all," Watson said, shaking her head.

"The company’s treatment is working perfectly. The energy in both our bodies has remained completely stable. In fact, the techniques we’ve learned here work extremely well for manipulating it."

She smiled faintly.

"Some of the sorcerers who don’t know where our abilities came from are actually rather jealous."

So the experiment was a success.

Evenson nodded.

"Then why is Sherlock doing that?"

"Because..."

Watson lowered her gaze and gestured toward another part of the garden.

Evenson followed her hand.

A woman sat beneath a white parasol at a small white table.

An Earl Grey sat beside her.

Her legs were crossed, and she was quietly reading a newspaper.

She seemed to possess an almost unnaturally sharp awareness.

Evenson had barely looked at her before she folded down the corner of her newspaper and glanced back at him.

She was beautiful.

Long golden hair fell in soft waves around an elegant face, and her skin was almost impossibly clear. Most striking of all was the slight curl of her lips, the hint of a knowing smile that gave her an effortless allure.

"Who is she...?"

"Irene Adler."

Clea answered before Evenson could finish.

Her smile carried a distinctly wicked edge.

"Though she has another, considerably more famous name."

She paused.

"Jamie Moriarty."

"Oh."

Evenson’s mouth curled into an equally entertained smile.

"That Irene Adler. Sherlock’s romantic nemesis."

"That’s not entirely inaccurate."

Watson sighed.

"Their relationship is complicated."

She glanced toward Sherlock.

"Ever since she showed up, he’s practically meditated every day."

When Sherlock and Watson had first arrived at the London Temple, Sherlock had been anything but peaceful.

There was an old saying that talent would shine wherever it went.

Sherlock had certainly lived up to it.

With his handsome features, sharp mind, and quick wit, he’d rapidly earned a rather colorful reputation among the London sorcerers.

Then Moriarty appeared.

And Sherlock’s good times ended.

The Sanctums needed money to operate, after all.

Hong Kong’s finances had largely been supported by Lily Grant.

London, with its extravagant lifestyle, had a different benefactor.

Moriarty.

More precisely, the wealthy financial interests behind her.

The relationship between Sherlock and Moriarty had always been complicated. Their rivalry ran deep, but so did their emotional entanglement.

At first, Sherlock had wanted to confront her.

Then he learned that Moriarty’s activities were ultimately helping fund an organization dedicated to protecting Earth.

That made things awkward.

Very awkward.

He couldn’t exactly condemn her for supporting the same cause he was now serving.

Worse, Moriarty seemed to have no intention of leaving.

She didn’t bother announcing herself to Sherlock or asking his permission. She simply stayed nearby, quietly practicing unfamiliar spells, drinking afternoon tea, and carrying on with her own business.

Sherlock had no idea what to do with himself.

He couldn’t behave exactly as he had before.

But giving up his old habits simply because she was around felt equally ridiculous.

What exactly was she to him?

And what exactly was he to her?

The resulting emotional stalemate drove him toward meditation on an almost daily basis.

Evenson rubbed his temples.

"Why make things this complicated? If they both have feelings for each other, they should just say so."

He glanced at Sherlock.

"They’re even on the same side now. What’s the point of torturing each other?"

"Who can really understand matters of the heart?"

Watson sighed.

Evenson couldn’t argue with that.

Then another thought occurred to him.

"Wait. If Moriarty is funding London, who’s paying for the New York Sanctum?"

"Our side?"

Clea planted her hands on her hips with unmistakable pride.

"We have plenty of money. We collect rent."

Evenson stared at her.

"Rent?"

"American history is short. When New York was being developed, a huge amount of land ended up belonging to Master Olivian."

She smiled.

"The properties are still in his name, and eventually they’ll pass to me. We can sell some land, collect rent, and live perfectly well."

Evenson stared at her.

"So you’re a landlord."

"Exactly."

He clicked his tongue.

He’d never realized Clea came from such a powerful landed family.

Then Clea’s eyes suddenly lit up.

"Oh, that reminds me. I’ve got a funny story for you."

She leaned closer.

"A few years ago, Master Olivian owned a property in New York that had a terrible reputation. People said someone had died there. Others claimed it was haunted. Nobody wanted to rent it."

"So he decided to sell it."

Clea’s smile widened.

"Given the property’s reputation, he didn’t expect much."

"But then something miraculous happened. Someone actually bought it."

"Paid in full."

Evenson’s expression slowly changed.

"And here’s the best part. The buyer paid with gold coins engraved with strange writing."

She tilted her head.

"Interesting, right?"

Evenson’s face collapsed.

"You’ve got to be kidding me."

He slapped a palm against his forehead.

The impact left a bright red handprint across his face.

"That was your house?!"

Everything suddenly made sense.

He’d always wondered why his first attempt at Soul Drain in that house had produced several Soul Crystals almost immediately.

He’d assumed he’d simply stumbled into something unusual.

The place had been haunted.

He’d bought a haunted house from Kamar-Taj.

Fantastic.

Just fantastic.

Evenson was still fuming when the world around them suddenly fell silent.

Watson, who had been standing beside them only moments before, looked around in confusion.

Clea was gone.

The garden was gone.

Even the sound of the wind had vanished.

Evenson glanced sideways.

"Spatial displacement."

His gaze settled on a figure standing nearby with her hands behind her back.

"Mirror Dimension."

The Ancient One stood there, perfectly calm.

"You were difficult to find."

Her voice was composed, but there was a dangerous amount of irritation underneath it.

Evenson had told her he was going to have a private conversation with Clea.

So she’d waited.

Then she’d turned around and discovered that both of them had vanished.

For days.

The Ancient One had not appreciated being left waiting.

Yet the moment she saw Evenson, most of her irritation evaporated.

She stared at his face.

"What happened to you?"

Her lips twitched.

"Why is there a handprint covering your entire face?"

The Ancient One’s self-control was legendary.

The fact that she didn’t laugh outright was a testament to it.

"I did it myself."

Evenson glared at her.

"None of your business."

He’d simply hit himself harder than intended.

Then he straightened.

"Now, if I may ask, why has the Sorcerer Supreme suddenly brought us into the Mirror Dimension?"

The Ancient One’s expression changed.

"Because the stars have aligned."

Evenson’s amusement vanished.

"The anomaly in R’lyeh has begun."

She continued.

"I have to go there personally to make certain the process remains stable."

Her gaze shifted toward Clea.

"I want to take her with me."

Evenson’s heart sank.

"Now?"

He had always known this day would come.

Knowing it was coming hadn’t made the moment any easier.

R’lyeh was not somewhere anyone wanted to visit casually.

"Don’t worry about me."

Clea gave him a reassuring smile.

"This is the path I chose. I intend to see it through."

Evenson looked at her.

There was no hesitation in her expression.

He couldn’t bring himself to argue.

"All right."

He leaned closer and lowered his voice.

"But I’m placing a marker on you. If anything goes wrong, contact me immediately. I’ll pull you back."

Clea nodded.

"I will."

Then she leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on the lips.

Without another word, she turned and walked over to the Ancient One.

The Ancient One opened a portal.

Just before stepping through with Clea, she suddenly stopped.

She turned and tossed something toward Evenson.

He caught it.

It was a symbol of the Ancient One’s authority.

"Take this."

Her expression became serious.

"In anticipation of what may happen next, I’ve ordered Kamar-Taj to enter lockdown. While you possess that token, the sorcerers of the London Temple are under your command."

Evenson looked down at it.

Then his brow furrowed.

"You think the anomaly in R’lyeh could affect London?"

"No."

The Ancient One shook her head.

"I’m talking about a different anomaly."

Evenson looked up.

"I told you before. The alignment of the stars will affect more than R’lyeh."

The Ancient One raised one hand toward the sky.

"Asgard."

Her voice became solemn.

"When the stars align, the barriers separating the Nine Realms will become extremely unstable. Dimensional ripples can occur with little warning."

"Sometimes..."

She paused.

"Two realms may even overlap."

Evenson’s expression hardened.

"And Britain is one of the weakest points."

"One of the weakest."

The Ancient One nodded.

"That’s why I need you to help these children deal with whatever comes through."

Then she stepped through the portal with Clea.

The gateway closed behind them.

Evenson remained alone in the Mirror Dimension, the Ancient One’s token resting heavily in his palm.

Something had changed.

And the beginning was only now.