Part one: Salomé

I.

When Salomé began to dance, shrouded in her seven veils, the audience went still and gaped with wonder. The lights had dimmed, the stage glowed red and Salomé owned the entirety of it. Swaying, stretching, jumping, crawling—no muscles remained idle in her quest to bewitch her public. It was a miracle the strips of silk and tulle wrapped around her body didn't come undone.

Though piece by piece she shed her costume, revealing herself to the king she danced for. The music intensified and at last Salomé stood nude on stage, as she clutched the veils to her chest for a modicum of decency. The crowd collectively gasped.

"Oh, God…" Dr. Stephen Strange averted his gaze, sinking deeper into his seat.

"When you said we were finally going on a date," Christine whispered beside him, "this wasn't really what I had in mind."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know—"

"How could you not know, it's Salomé!"

Dr. Strange opened his mouth to continue the argument but their neighbors shushed them. They both sat back and waited for the show to end. After the dancers took their bows at curtain call, Dr. Strange walked his date to the cloakroom, only to inform her that he 'needed to chat with Salomé.'

"Seriously, Stephen? You brought me here because you needed to chat with Salomé?"

"No—well, not…really. It's important, Christine."

Christine sighed. "I'll leave you to it, then. Good night, Stephen." She turned around and left but Stephen followed her outside. She was waving for a cab.

"Christine, please, wait! It'll only take a moment—"

"No, Stephen." She stopped and faced him. "I'm tired. Of waiting. I'm going home. Enjoy your…chat with Salomé."

"Christine—"

But Christine got into her cab, leaving a despondent Stephen Strange alone on a jam-packed sidewalk. He squeezed his way through, into the theater, until he made it backstage to the dressing rooms. Here, an attendant intercepted him.

"I'm sorry, sir, you're not allowed—"

"Dr. Stephen Strange. I believe Miss Odile Proctor is expecting me."

The attendant hesitated.

"I'll wait here," Dr. Strange assured him and the young man went to check if the star of the show was indeed expecting a visitor. She was and the attendant showed Stephen in.

"Mr. Strange!" Odile exclaimed, spinning in her chair. She wore nothing but an embroidered silk robe, which slipped off her bare legs as she crossed them. "I see you got my tickets."

"Doctor," Stephen corrected. It confused Odile. "Doctor Strange," he clarified, "not Mr. Doctor."

Odile was still confused. "Why…would anybody—No, never mind." She shook her head. "So tell me, how did you like the show?"

"It was very…interesting."

Odile chuckled. "Yes, I suppose that's one word for it. Did you know that Oscar Wilde basically invented striptease when he wrote the play?"

"Fascinating. Now enough of that—"

A jazz tune interrupted him, the unmistakable voice of Louis Armstrong.

"Cheek to Cheek?" Stephen asked.

Odile nodded. "Ella and Louis, '56. You were saying?"

"Hmm." He smiled to himself, toying with the sling ring in his pocket. "We need to talk, Miss Proctor."

"I thought we were."

"Not here." Stephen put his sling ring on.

"Oh, dear." Odile stood up. "Promise you'll bring me right back?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I…promise?"

"Pinky promise." She held up her hand, wagging the finger in question.

"Uh, no. No."

She sat back down. "Then I'm not coming."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, Mr.—Dr. Strange. I don't know what you want from me and I don't know how you found me but I'm not leaving this place unless I know I won't end up stranded halfway across the world. I don't have a bling ring."

Stephen frowned. "A wha—you mean a sling ring?"

She pointed to his hand. "That ridiculous-looking, two-fingered bling you make sparkly teleportation circles with?"

"Uh, yes…"

"Yeah, I don't have one."

Stephen was at a loss for words for a few seconds, before he decided it was best to give in and offered up his curved, shivering pinky. Odile hooked it with hers and pressed their thumbs together.

"Happy now?"

"Thrilled."

Spinning his hand, Dr. Strange opened a gateway to the Sanctum. "After you," he told Odile and let her step through first.

"Where are we, exactly?"

The gateway closed behind them and Stephen's tuxedo morphed into a sophisticated outfit made of dark blue robes and a red cape.

"The New York Sanctum, Greenwich Village. Quite a way from Broadway but not exactly halfway across the world."

Odile wrapped her arms around herself, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the Chamber of Relics. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Mostly, yes," Stephen answered. "Not in this particular room, however."

"Love what you've done with the place."

"Wasn't all me, but thanks." He led her to a smaller, cozier room, where he provided her with a warm blanket and slippers. "Should've put something on."

She smiled. "Slipped my mind."

They sat across from each other, with a small table between them, on which Dr. Strange magically produced a tea tray.

"Well, then." Odile picked up a cup and tucked her legs under her. "What is it so important that you had to talk to me about it in person…and in a place like this, no less?"

Stephen leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'll cut to the chase, Miss Proctor. Your life is in danger."

Her eyebrows jumped. "Oh?"

"There's somebody going around killing sorcerers and it's only a matter of time before you become a target."

Odile calmly sipped her tea. "Would that be all?"

Stephen straightened up. "I just told you your life's in danger, what more do you want?"

"You said sorcerers are getting killed. I should be fine, then."

He stared at her, bewildered. His mouth struggled to form an adequate response. "Are you sure you speak English?"

Odile laughed. "Yes. Are you sure you do?"

"I don't—I don't follow."

"You said sorcerers. I'm not a sorcerer."

"Okay, listen, just because you don't know what a sling ring is—"

"I'm a sorceress."

Stephen blinked several times, dumbstruck. "Are…you…being serious right now?"

"Quite." Odile set her teacup down and got to her feet. "Are we done here?"

Stephen stood, too, and with a flick of his fingers, the smooth skin on her chest dissolved into a scar which disappeared into her cleavage.

"I thought those records were supposed to be sealed," she whispered, looking down at her sternum.

"They were," he replied, "except the London Sanctum fell and they became unsealed."

Her head snapped up.

"They were secured as soon as possible," Stephen assured her. "But really, you're not a hard woman to find. There are posters of your face, name and nightly location all over the city."

"They paid off, you know. We've had a full house for two weeks in a row now."

Dr. Strange couldn't believe her obstinacy. "Records or no records, when someone who almost died during the Incident makes a miraculous comeback to the world of professional dance—that's like putting up a big neon sign screaming, 'I'm not an ordinary human being!' If I were a serial sorcerer killer, I would check you out."

Unfazed, Odile recast the spell to hide her scar. "So what would you prescribe, Doc?"

"For starters, a sling ring." He gave her one. Odile took it and held it in her palm. "And training. And relocation to the Sanctum."

She seemed to consider the proposition as she examined the ring. "So you want me to become a real sorceress?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You know why I never did it?" She put the ring on and flexed her fingers. "My parents insisted. They were going to ship me off—or rather, teleport me—to Kathmandu but Odile, the black sheep—swan of the family, preferred dancing."

She smiled, removing the ring. "Odette the white swan, on the other hand, didn't disappoint. She excelled at the Kamar-Taj, until our parents died and she had to come back to look after me. Always the better twin, Odette…"

"Shouldn't speak ill of the dead," Stephen said. "Especially after what she did for you—"

Odile clenched her fist around the sling ring and glared at him. "You don't wanna go there, Doc."

Stephen apologized, if only not to alienate his recruit as he realized that he may have overstepped his boundaries. "I'm sorry, Miss Proctor, I didn't mean to upset you."

"That's alright. Oh, and you can just call me Odile." She pocketed her sling ring, grinning. "When do we start?"