Salomon's plan wasn't elegant.
It wasn't clever, either.
Just direct.
Crude, even.
At least, compared to what they'd dealt with at the British Museum, this situation wasn't nearly as dangerous.
Magically speaking.
Socially?
That was another story.
The descendants of the Puritan officials who had presided over the Salem witch trials still held power here.
Generations later, their influence hadn't faded.
Politics.
Business.
Local authority.
Legacy, dressed up as democracy.
And one of those descendants stood at the center of it all—
Ricky White.
A sitting senator.
Salomon and Wong had taken up position in a café across from City Hall.
Waiting.
Watching.
Salomon stared down at his cup.
"…This tastes like hot mud."
Even drowned in milk and sugar, coffee still made his mouth feel sour.
He set it aside and glanced at Wong.
"…How many tuna sandwiches is that?"
Wong didn't even look guilty.
"Fresh allowance. My dad hasn't confiscated it yet."
He patted his stomach, completely at peace with his life choices.
"I'm making the most of it."
Salomon sighed.
"You realize we're here to surveil someone, right?"
Wong shrugged.
"Multitasking."
A beat.
"You don't miss the Kamar-Taj cafeteria, do you?"
That earned him a look.
To Wong, gaining weight was a strategy.
More mass meant more endurance.
More padding.
More survival.
To everyone else?
He was just the only overweight guy in a place full of ascetics and fighters.
Which, unfortunately, made him a target.
"Anyway," Wong said, finishing another bite, "how long are we waiting?"
Salomon leaned back in his chair.
"No idea."
And he meant it.
Politicians didn't stay put.
They moved.
Networked.
Socialized.
Eventually—
Ricky White would leave.
And they'd be ready.
On the café's old television, White's campaign speech played through static.
"If elected, I will bring real reform to Washington," he declared. "I swear on my life, I will never betray my principles."
Salomon didn't listen.
Outside, dry leaves rolled along the street.
He closed his eyes.
The noise faded.
Cars.
Voices.
Gone.
In their place—
Details.
Water dripping in the kitchen.
The hum of fluorescent lights.
A radio dial clicking somewhere in the distance.
A couple shifting closer together.
The faint cry of birds, far beyond the city.
His senses stretched.
Sharpened.
"Hey. Hey—Salomon."
Wong shook him.
"They're coming out."
Salomon opened his eyes.
Slowly.
He yawned.
The Sorcerer Supreme had warned him about this.
His body would change.
Stronger.
Sharper.
Not superhuman.
But close enough to unsettle anyone who noticed.
He didn't bother with astral projection.
He hated it.
If he wanted to rest, he'd sleep.
Not split his soul in half just to study.
Outside—
Ricky White stepped out of City Hall.
Blond hair. Confident smile.
A woman—his secretary, Gloria—looped through his arm.
They headed toward a black car.
Salomon leaned forward.
"Don't interrupt me."
His voice dropped.
A whisper.
The spell began.
The distance was short.
More than enough.
Wong watched.
Salomon raised a finger.
And pointed.
Ricky White stumbled.
Then—
Collapsed.
So did Gloria.
Wong blinked.
Then looked again.
And froze.
"…You didn't."
"I did."
"…You pulled his pants down."
Salomon nodded.
"What kind of spell is that?"
"Pants."
Simple.
Reliable.
Humiliating.
No belt.
No suspenders.
No dignity.
Unless you were wearing full plate armor—
Your pants were coming down.
And when they did—
You tripped.
Every time.
Outside, chaos erupted.
White scrambled to his feet, red-faced, while his security team rushed to shield him.
Too late.
Cameras were already out.
"Alright," Salomon said, standing. "Let's go."
He stepped out onto the street, continuing the incantation under his breath.
One by one—
The bodyguards doubled over.
Their pants followed.
A wave of confusion rippled through the crowd.
Some laughed.
Some stared.
Most just recorded everything.
The guards tried to recover—
Only to have their pant legs pinned under the feet of opportunistic reporters.
They couldn't move.
Perfect.
Salomon slipped through the crowd.
Wong close behind.
His voice never stopped.
Another spell.
The world slowed.
People hesitated.
Reactions dulled.
Golden dust drifted through the air above them.
"Close your eyes," Salomon muttered.
Wong obeyed.
A flash.
Blinding.
Like a camera flash turned into a weapon.
People cried out, shielding their eyes.
Some stumbled.
Others blinked through tears.
Salomon pushed forward.
"There," he said sharply.
His gaze locked onto a single detail.
"Pink gemstone. That's the one."