Salomon looked at the man seated in the armchair opposite him.
"But I don't think that's enough. Once excessive curiosity drives you deep into the darkness of the magical world, there's a very real chance you'll become trapped there and be unable to pull yourself out. Many spellcasters believe they're merely dabbling and won't cause any harm, but the truth is that Kamar-Taj has killed more spellcasters—both outsiders and its own—than you could imagine," he said. "As you've seen, a large part of our work, aside from research, is killing. Yes, magic like the kind in fantasy literature—but far worse than what's in the books. Magic is no good thing, yet we cannot do without it."
"Wait! Magic?" Though Watson badly wanted to remind Salomon not to get blood all over the carpet, that term still caught his attention. "So you're even more professional than Van Helsing?" Holding his teacup, he asked with great interest, as though their sewer adventure had done nothing to dampen his optimism. "Do you have wands too?"
"I have nothing to do with Hogwarts. Why does every one of you British people ask that? Vampires exist, so what's so strange about magic existing?" Salomon did not turn around as he answered, but Sherlock Holmes could see how awful his expression was. "You don't have to force a conversation, Watson. I won't be embarrassed. Thanks, but I don't want tea right now."
Sherlock Holmes shifted into a more comfortable position, his elbows braced on the armrests and his fingertips pressed together into a steeple. He stared fixedly into the Arcanist's eyes, as if trying to dig out secrets Salomon was unwilling to explain. Yet even if he had learned to read minds, he would not have been able to pry open the secrets in Salomon's mind.