"ID."
"You already know how old I am, you old bastard!" Salomon shot the bar owner a glare and snapped his fingers at the tray holding four drinks. "If I'm not mistaken, this came from a friend of a not-quite-friend." Before returning to his seat, Salomon gestured with his chin toward the shotgun hanging on the wall behind the bar. Its body was covered in twisted Gothic patterns and skull ornaments, its stock wrapped in iron chains. The entire weapon radiated a terrifying heat, as though it had just been pulled from a furnace. The Arcanist asked casually, "Do you know him?"
"Ghost Rider had someone deliver it." The bar owner did not even look up. "I hear he's doing pretty well these days."
"I don't think so." Salomon shook his head.
As far as he knew, Johnny Blaze, host of the Ghost Rider, had picked up several jobs as a stunt motorcyclist, but none had been stable. His frequent unemployment meant he had to rely entirely on his journalist girlfriend to support him. Kamar-Taj also gave him an allowance, but Johnny Blaze's pride always made him refuse help from both Kamar-Taj and his girlfriend, sending him off to work odd jobs in obscure places for extra money. Apparently, not long ago, he had been stopped by the police for speeding and driving without a license, and local Kamar-Taj Arcanists had been the ones to bail him out. The Arcanist shook his head, dismissing those irrelevant matters, then turned and summoned an Invisible Servant to carry the tray over to the table, where Wanda and the Drum Brothers were already waiting.
"Beer, beer, tequila, martini." Salomon sat down beside Wanda, facing the Drum Brothers. They had agreed to fly from South America to New York to meet Salomon not because