It was time to look at the bright side: The portal didn't send Wanda directly into a wall something equally solid and therefore deadly.

On the bad side, the woman that had tutored her for most of her adult life and granted her refuge when she needed it most was most likely dead, her adopted home was in unknown and grave danger while she was sent away on an errand, that errand included locating an alien on another planet while she was lying on a marble floor she didn't recognize.

Keep calm, everything is fine. Agatha wanted to teleport you to safety and the transition was just a little rough.

No, nothing was fine. No amount of blinking was able to make that picture or the memories go away. If this was a bad dream, it was a very persistent one. What was there to be done? She had been sent away from all the danger to play messenger, however dissatisfying this was. The sensible thing was to get up and get these messages delivered.

Easier said than done. She had to take several deep breaths before she was even remotely capable of rational thought. This was insane … what happened? It was getting hard to ignore the painful lump in her throat and the constant threat of tears wallowing up. She reminded herself again not to panic and keep calm again; this also meant that she had to make a priority list. The first point on such a list should be egoistic: physical integrity.

It was only then that she noticed the pain in her forehead. Gingerly touching the center of pain she felt a little blood – small laceration. She also experienced mild nausea, vertigo and her vision was a little blurry - warning signs of a mild concussion. She must have had staggered against the nearby wall and then grazed something while falling to the ground. It was painful, but didn't seem like a serious injury. Getting up was more difficult than previously thought as well – the first attempt failed due to wobbly knees. That was alright. Crawling was moving forward, too.

Wanda finally struggled on her feet, clutching at a polished table while it took several more moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark. These halls were spacious, with large windows that allowed the darkness of night to be lighten up by very faint moonlight. Several lights seemed to flicker outside, perhaps because of the activity of a sleepless city? The architecture looked classicist, with delicate adornments on pale stone; the furniture kept in the same style.

This was supposed to be a hidden conclave of sorcerers, and a luxurious one at that. Whatever had happened in New Salem, it was on the other side of the world. She was safe here – it might be in the middle of the night, but somebody was bound to be here somewhere. There was usually at least one mage on watch to guard the Gate. Where was that Gate? One could disguise such a thing or even a circle of runes required for this sort of travel behind paint or work it into the surroundings, but nothing on the floor, walls or furniture, clean as they were, would allow that.It was only a sudden inspiration that drove Wanda to look up at the ceiling. It was not uncommon for classicist ceilings to be painted in the same style, but in this case, the soft colours and clear lines followed a pattern, one that could be recognised by someone schooled in the occult. They had hidden their portal in a piece of art, and in a ceiling, no less. Brilliant. That actually would have worked like a charm if the sorcerer on watch had been in attendance and Wanda hadn't been tattered by the previous divination spell.
On the far side of the room, there was light shining from under the door. Someone was awake there, that's where she had to go. At first, Wanda could only stagger forward slowly, but gained her composure gradually as she approached the door.

Behind it, she found the mage on watch, but the horror of that discovery struck her to the very bone.
The man lying on the floor of a wide hallway was plump and elderly, with grey hair, moustache and an old-fashioned, mustard-coloured suit and bow-tie. Checking his vitals revealed what she had feared – death had shaped the features of this face. Her education told her that he couldn't have been dead for long, the other education told her that gruesome use of magic was involved – a lot of magic. What happened here? Was the conclave under attack as well? By whom? What was going on? These people were so cunning, so how could this happen to them? Perhaps this was the only victim?When a person entered the doorway, Wanda cringed, expecting nothing more than some dark, murderous psychopath hurling fire and brimstone at her. Instead, a chipper young woman approached, striding towards in wide, busy steps. “Oh, hey there. You are medical staff, are you not?”Even though Wanda felt herself trembling nervously, she tried to calm down. This woman was obviously an investigator. Moreover, she thought her to be an investigator as well. It seemed to be a good idea to keep it that way and get out of there, before anyone entertained the idea to suspect Wanda with the murder of this man.
Also, investigators only showed up when the danger had passed, so there was nothing to fear, right?

The woman that was now kneeling beside the body had long, brown hair and looked a little too enthusiastic, given that she was dealing with a dead person and didn't even wait for an answer. Also, she had a distinct british accent, which was to be expected. Wanda felt reminded of the movie “My Fair Lady”, where the use of accents was a significant plot-point. But she probably did the Fair Lady investigator injustice; she had never seen this movie in english and couldn't tell if their accents were alike. Also, she wore a pink tie. How quaint!

Fair Lady was now fumbling with her kit, only glancing in the other woman's direction. “What do we have here?”“The victim has been dead for at least a few hours. Rigor mortis hasn't even set in yet. Source of death was a significant amount of energy discharge to the upper chest, which disintegrated part of the lower sternum, two ribs and a portion of the lung tissue. Judging from the entry angle, I would guess that the blast severed the aorta, but we can't be sure without proper autopsy.” At least, that answer made sense from the medical perspective, although much of it was speculation, as Wanda had only made a very quick observation. She had no idea if it was convincing, however. She wasn't even sure they called a victim really “victim” in the trade language of criminal investigation.

Fair Lady looked a bit bewildered for a moment. Wanda could feel sweat forming on her brow – had she used the wrong terms? Did she fail in her estimation? Perhaps it was some kind of taboo to estimate the time of death without measuring liver temperature? Every muscle tensed while she was struggling to keep a calm façade, not knowing if she did that in vain.

“Holy mother of compelling voice of sorrowful sadness.” Fair Lady said at last in a deadpan tone. She then cocked her eyebrow. “You're bleeding.”

It took a great deal of self-discipline not to breath a sigh of relief. Right, she had a tiny injury. “Do you see these heels? They invite a stumble once or twice a year. Today was the annual stumbling.” Wanda lied quickly, trying not to pay too much attention to the previous comment.

“They don't look that high.”

“That doesn't keep me from stumbling.”Fair Lady looked conflicted for a moment, glancing back and forth between the scratch on Wanda's forehead and the injuries of the dead mage. In the end, the body and her curiosity about his demise evidently won. “Energy discharge, obviously. But either the heat should have liquified the surrounding tissue, or leave if scorched and blackened. But I see none of it here.” She then sniffed at the jacket of the mage and touched it tentatively, only to frown. “Do you feel that hum?”Odd, that one. “Actually, the lack of marks like this point us to a bioelectric charge.” Wanda bit on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from talking. She wasn't part of this investigation and shouldn't put any ideas in the woman's head that could lead her to suspect something supernatural, or paying too much attention to her current company.But Fair Lady was preoccupied thinking through the “Bioelectricity”-theory and didn't quite dismiss it. “Not unlike the Chitauri-virus we encountered. That worked from the inside and was carried by discharges … what if ...? Oh no. You touched him without gloves, didn't you?”Wanda could only nod.“Ah, then you could be infected with a lethal alien virus that kills painfully and lets you hover above the ground after your death. That scared the living daylights out of these campers.” She laughed nervously. “But don't worry, we have an anti-serum.”How comforting. This woman was evidently very familiar with supernatural and alien occurrences - even though her virus-theory had no merit in this case, as the murder was clearly done by magic - , which could only mean that she belonged to that organization Wanda was not very keen to meet again. She had dodged contact with them for quite some time, and even if making contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. would eventually lead her to Clint Barton, the danger of being locked up was just too high for her taste. Also, it was unlikely that they would let it slide that she had just vanished under their noses, and thus violating her “parole”. Being found at a crime scene wasn’t going to end well for her either. She had to silently thank Agatha for insisting that her apprentice dressed prim and proper, even if she had to help things along at times – the outfit was enough to make Fair Lady think Wanda was a S.H.I.E.L.D.-agent. The irony.Time to get out of here, and fast. Fair Lady just provided the perfect excuse to get herself out of this room. “Anyway, you should get yourself to quarantine. Oh, and get Fitz down here if you meet him, please.” Whoever Fitz was.Wanda got up slowly and smoothed her clothing. “I shall do so.” The hell she wouldn't.

Getting out of the room was one thing, navigating out of an unknown building swarming with agents was quite another. In every corridor, every room she passed, however small or spacious, there was at least one walking suit, visibly armed or not. By now, she had already decided that she would resort to the oldest trick in the book: Pretending that she did belong to this place and get out in one piece.

Wanda didn't want to press her luck again – Fair Lady had not only proven to be a scientist of the medical staff, not a soldier, and as such blissfully oblivious. The other people in the building would no doubt be more observant.

She entertained the idea of just climbing out of a window, but the risk of being caught just outside the building in such a compromising manner was too high. Hiding was simply out of question: She was way too jumpy and wanted to escape too badly to just crawl under a rug and hold still. So, she headed for the next exit, holding her head up high and walking down the corridors with an air of implicitness and busyness around her.

It all went well up until she had almost reached the door promising a free nightsky, when she passed an agent whom she took for just another walking suit. But he touched her lightly by the elbow, making Wanda almost jump.

He didn't really look intimidating, to be perfectly honest. He was a middle-aged man with a nondescript face, warm eyes and receding hairline. He seemed to wear his continual slight smile exactly like he was born with it, like it was part of his personality. Even his voice was soft and non-threatening, while his words were not. “Excuse me, but you shouldn't be here.” he said in what sounded like a genuinely friendly voice, before Wanda yelped while she was grabbed from behind and a bag was put over her head.

---

To be completely honest: There were tougher spots than being chained to a chair with a bag over the head. Wanda was one of the few people to have been in a similar situation before with good cause, but the last time the room had been tiled. This room however lacked the cold of a tiled room, while the sound of her steps had been swallowed by an unknown material when she had been brought in. It was nice to know that interrogation chambers were designed more personal these days. Plus, Wanda hadn't done anything horribly wrong this time.

She had no idea how long she had been in this place. Perhaps it had only been a few minutes, perhaps half an hour or even a couple of hours. Time tended to get unpredictable when temporarily robbed of sight and forced to sit still. But all things considered, despite being captured and in a generally hopeless situation, she felt oddly upbeat.

The door opened and she heard the sound of footsteps. One person put something that sounded like files on the table she was sitting at and adjusted a chair, while another person carefully removed – at long last – the bag. It took Wanda a moment to blink and get accustomed to the light in the room before she could get a look at the two people now sitting across the table. One of them was the middle-aged agent with the eternal smile she met earlier. The other man looked a little uneasy, as if not accustomed to sit in this chair. He appeared to be clean-cut and proper, with fair hair, blue eyes, and chiseled like a statue. His clothes were hopelessly out of fashion and underlined the impression that for some reason, he just tagged along and was only a spectator in this conversation. His arms remained crossed before his chest while he eyed his presumed colleague. It was the serene agent who eventually started the conversation.

“Hello Ms. Maximoff. I'm glad to see you unharmed after your sudden disappearance. You had us worried for a while.”

So polite, so untrue.

“I'm Philip Coulson, and this ...” He gestured to the silent man beside him. “... is Captain Steve Rogers. I hope you don't mind his presence during our conversation.” The Agent started to browse through the files he brought with him without really reading them. Interestingly enough, he had a few items lying beside him along with those files – an unburned candle, some incense, a Tarot Deck and much to Wanda's amusement, a plastic Harry Potter Wand. Even more interesting were the files Agent Coulson pretended not to know: they contained even a few pictures, and from what she glimpsed, they showed mainly herself at a younger age, about ten years ago, and her surviving family. One of those pictures in particular caught her eye: It must have been shot very recently and showed her father and both her siblings – her twin brother and her half-sister - in what seemed to be one of the more carefree conversations.

She had enough education in psychology to know where this was going. He wanted to apply pressure. First, he established himself to be in control, evidenced with the ease and affability he approached the conversation, at the same time letting her know that he knew everything about her that could be observed through mundane means. The next step would be a subtle reminder of her unfavorable position, followed by an offer she couldn't refuse. What puzzled her was the lack of time he spent on her, as if he was on a tight schedule. The presence of Captain Rogers, whoever he was supposed to be, was also a mystery, since this person added nothing but obvious lack of experience and slightly eroded the position of strength Agent Coulson was building up.

“You are, of course, aware that your presence in a murder scene raises some questions, especially since you seem to have literally appeared out of nowhere.”

Captain Rogers exchanged a glance with Coulson, trying to hide that he was taken aback by Wanda's lack of reaction. But she simply hadn't made up her mind. Her gut feeling told her that something was off, but she couldn't put her finger on it. One thing however was sure: This wasn't an interrogation, this was negotiation.

“I was teleported there. I am on an errand.” Wanda finally said after a long pause in the most calm and earnest tone she could manage.

The two men in front of her stared for just the shortest of moments, then shrugged simultaneously as if something like teleportation was something ordinary. The older agent frowned at his notes without making eye contact. “Care to illuminate us about the nature of your errand?”

“I shall do so when I’m certain what I am dealing with.”

This time, Coulson examined her closely, before seemingly reading the files again. “Teleport … that’s something new since you first made contact with us in Chicago. Nasty incident. Let’s see what happened since then.” The eternal slight smile never left Agent Coulson's face while he pretended to read complete news in the files before him. “After the incident in Chicago you were put under the observation of Agent Victoria Hand. Loads of complaints here … you drive ten percent faster than allowed ...”

Traffic had to flow somehow.

“... if you are driving at all, that is. Most of the time, you skip on the tickets for public transportation.”

Political boycott. The prices for buses were outrageous and were raised regardless of inflation.

“You … kissed a statue in the dead of night?” Coulson raised his eyebrows quizzically. Surprisingly enough, this question was answered by the military guy beside the agent who peered over his shoulder into the files.

“The goosemaid in Göttingen, isn’t it?. Medical students do that usually after the exams, and sometimes shortly before. You know, for luck.” He managed even a slight grin in Wanda's direction. “They did that even in my time.”

“Which leads us to the greatest crimes of all.” Coulson announced in a faux-grave voice. “Trolling on the internet.”

It had to be done.

“This all doesn't tell me how you vanish for over a year without a trace and then pop up in a crime scene. Care to explain?” Coulson however looked undeterred and patient.

This was a farce. Judging from the body she found, the murders had taken place several hours before she had been found. She knew that. He knew that. He didn't suspect her of murder, or this conversation would have taken a very different turn from the beginning. Wanda decided not to call Coulson out on it and instead cut to the chase.

“I have lost much today.” She originally wanted to look and sound professional and clinical, but she was unable to hide a certain melancholic undertone, however hard she tried. “If you help me, I will give you whatever answers I have. They may be the answers you seek.”

Agent Coulson wanted to ask something, but surprisingly, it was Captain Rogers who now raised his head and interrupted the conversation with one single question. “Is magic real?”

Both Coulson and Wanda paused a moment to stare at him, like he just had broken the rules. In a way, he had. Within an interrogation the questioning person only changed when the detainee was to be unsettled or upset. Agent Coulson at this stage would have attempted to do the opposite, so this part most likely wasn't planned. But Rogers didn't know and most likely didn't care much. Wanda was still a bit taken aback when she answered as truthfully as she could.

“Very much so.”

The reaction of both men was peculiar, as they didn’t even bat an eye, like they did before at the mention of teleportation. It seemed as much as they accepted and shrugged it off instead of questioning her sanity. It was odd to see someone being told about something that fundamental and then treat it like being told that pinapple made a good ingredient for curry. They were just that hard-boiled.

Agent Coulson scribbled a few notes in his files that didn’t look like he was writing something like “completely bonkers, transfer to psych ward”, but more like he really believed the information he had just been given. Weird. The Captain seemed more interested than surprised as well, and this was also the moment he took the initiative, stood up, walked over to her and relieved her of those pesky handcuffs. He then sat down, his face deadly serious, but patient. “How?”

The complete lack of surprise and disbelief still had Wanda a little perplexed, but tried to at least appear like she was confident. “Let me ask it this way … judging from your rank, you are military, aren't you? Were there ever occurrences in your line of work that were bordering on the fantastical, or at least hard to explain?”

The Captain seemed to be half-amused by this question, but his blooming smile withered into a grimace. “Do serum-induced super-strength, glowing cubes, portals and lightning-shooting hammers count?”

“Oh dear.” This short list made Wanda smile slightly. It became awfully apparent now why this Captain Rogers was part of this conversation – he was obviously clued in, which was strange for a man from the military. “Well, you are armed with the powers of science and reason. A few of these things like the serum can be explained ...”

“Body-redesign via serum was purely medical and the tesseract was just a big energy source. How does this connect to the concept of magic?”

Wanda shook her head. “You are correct about the medical nature of the serum, but I have to object about the tesseract just being an energy source. I have only heard about the tesseract, but from what I understand, it is more like powerful focus … “ She stopped herself from further speculating and thus wasting more time. Instead, she folded her hands as if in prayer, but her palms never touched. “Would you mind doing the same?” The Captain, obviously more curious than baffled complied, while the agent observed with an interested look on his face. “What you feel is warmth, which is, by its very definition, energy. As long as you live, you are emitting energy. This is science. It gets weird when people are able to focus energy like this into something more substantiated, when warmth becomes heat and heat sets aflame. It is a line that can be called magical, but it is still science.”

“That's true.” Agent Coulson added, turning to the pensive Captain for his explanation. “There have been several instances of people we call “Gifted”, and sometimes mutants. We haven't quite isolated it, but it seems to be a genetic mutation that allows that kind of emission, energy manipulation and the like ...”

“Being one of those people ...” Wanda interrupted just a bit too eager. “ … and medically oriented, genetics are a pet passion of mine. The problem with mutations are that they may be dominant in the genetic make-up, but are ultimately an isolated and random case that spreads. “Gifted” however appear in all corners of the world in unrelated cases without any conceivable pattern. So, in my humble opinion, it seems to me like a form of development, in short: Evolution.”

“We can discuss that.” Rogers answered in an amiable manner before he and his colleague could get bored. He also looked a bit to simply cut Wanda off. “Just … another time, alright?”

“Right, sorry.” She was determined not to get carried away again. “So, we have established that most of the supernatural encountered can be explained away by the rules of chance, psychology, suggestion, genetics, medical formulas, science all the same. The mind is such a formidable thing, sharp as a weapon if used properly. This mind ...” She tapped her own temple lightly and spoke slowly to carry the weight of her statement. “might be cracked, but I'm far from crackers. I know the simple truth you seek, that there are things and people that defy science to the point of affront. There are places in this world where science isn't allowed to trade, where things just are and can't be explained and the possibilities are infinite. These are realms of the unexplainable, the unbelievable, the mystery incarnate and infinite potential. These are the places where I dwell.”

Wanda exchanged one look with the Agent when she reached for the Tarot Deck, and receiving the slightest of nods, started to shuffle the cards while she started to explain. “Science carries us far and wide, even through what claims to be magic. Take these cards – someone who will claim it’s magic without being magical will prey upon what you are prepared to believe, what you want to hear. The cards are designed to fit into the situation, the explanations phrased vaguely so that everything you want to believe is served. I can guarantee you that I can make a character reading that would be true for the three of us. But add a single spark and these cards can really provide answers.” She channeled just the tiniest bit of what she could do into the cards, knowing fully well that the probability of a proper reading would dramatically increase. She was also aware of the scarlet glow she emitted from her hand while doing so; it sometimes looked a little like gaseous blood streaks … it looked quite gross, and from the look of both of the men, they thought the same.

“Ask one question, dear sirs, but keep it simple if you please. Also, yes-or-no-questions are preferred.”

Captain Rogers was simply quicker, flat and grim. “Who killed Dr. Banner?”

So much for simplicity. Wanda didn't know any Dr. Banner, but it was almost overwhelming how important this issue was for the Captain. She did spare him a scrutinizing glance, muttered a warning that there were no names on the cards, shuffled again for good measure and put the cards on the table, noticing that every card that was even remotely catastrophic was within the batch she had to read. “The Death card means that he was killed by a person who has undergone a dramatic change recently. The Nine Swords mean that the murderer suffers horribly.” She tried to connect the meaning of the cards to the best of her ability, although divination really wasn't her strongest suit, let alone something vague like Tarot. “He loves something more than his life … oh. And if I read this correctly, he is about to die or already dead at this point.”

Agent Coulson seemed a little disappointed. “That doesn't tell us much.”

“It's Tarot. There's only so much truth to be squeezed out of it.” Wanda shrugged. “If you have a question that doesn't need to be oracled, I'm happy to oblige. If that would be all?”

Coulson quickly interceded. “One second … are the murders in the ORNC and the disappearance of Dr. Banner connected?”

It took only a few cards to be laid down to answer that question. “Most definitely, which doesn't make your job easier. From the wounds I've seen, you are dealing with a mage.”

To Wanda's surprise, the agent really wrote that down, which was not only old-fashioned, but also astoundingly open-minded concerning her little reading, perhaps even a bit gullible. He never lost his friendly demeanor although he talked strictly business with her now. “If I understand correctly, your continued cooperation would come at a cost.”

“Get me in touch with Agent Barton, please.” She couldn’t believe this was happening. She had to be careful not to overdo it, but for the first time in her life, she was able to dictate terms with this organization without the Chicago incident being rubbed in. She also needed to relay her message to a certain Asgardian, but suspected she would do that better on her own or with Clint's help. “Apart from that, I would appreciate not to be bothered and won't be a bother in return. Is that acceptable?”

Agent Coulson certainly looked as if he would agree without further ado, but before he could open his mouth, the Captain interrupted quickly, his expression not pensive anymore, but resolved and even somewhat enthusiastic.

“I've got a better idea. Need a job?”

Notes