Viral Sensation
THE SUMMER TWILIGHT in Stockholm never gave way to night. I closed my eyes to enjoy the cool ocean breeze and imagine the energy darkness would bring to the city. We were on the wine bar patio of the NOFO Hotel. My eyes re-opened to the midnight sun and glimpses of the Church of Katarina that peeked across at us through the trees of its cemetery.
Elsa raised her glass of ice wine. “Another semester bites the dust, my little droogs. Just two more to snuff out and then bliss!”
Göran grinned. “And three cheers to no more of Professor Lundberg’s deathly-long lectures.”
“Hell, yes,” I said as our glasses clinked together. “Skål!”
Elsa batted her long eyelashes, laughing the way I imagined old-time movie stars laughed. She had a face full of the restrained certainty I noticed in women whose lives have always gone just as planned. “Tell us, Sophie, my delicious crumpet, will you stay with us for some lovely summer debauchery or will you limp back to your kingdom of cheeseburgers and bankruptcies?”
Göran put down his Lager, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I hereby solemnly declare you must stay. We’ll go camping up in Lapland, get stoned in a place where you can truly see the sun at midnight. We might even venture over and troll the Fins during their midsummer celebration.”
“Yes,” Elsa agreed. “Like Vikings.”
I shrugged. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea, but firm plans never seemed to work out for me. I had successfully completed the first semester of my master’s degree in Ethnology at the University of Stockholm. I wanted to celebrate that. There had been a dozen times when I thought it wouldn’t happen. I wanted to be in the now, a now completely of my own choosing.
My head spun a little with the liquor and the realization it had only been ten months since I had received my acceptance letter. In that time, my extracurriculars included discovering I was a mist rider, the rarest of all breeds, a legend nearly forgotten, the oldest of all human forms.
In antiquity, it was believed only one was born every five centuries, but when none had surfaced for the past thousand years, the prevailing thought became that the era of the mist riders had come to an end when the last one had abdicated in favor of a mortal life.
Despite my initial shock, I had learnt to use ley lines both for drawing energy and kinetically, my body had figured out how to regenerate, and I had traveled all the way to the forbidden Sacred Vault in arctic Alaska to annihilate an undead army of dwarves and troglodytes and break ancient Eternal wards.
I mean, I couldn’t even fit it all on a postcard.
There was the whole bit about having a sibling, who was not merely Immortal and deranged, but also the Lord of the Black Demon Hounds—the most feared supernatural army the magic world had ever known.
What else? Deadly skirmishes with soul swallowers and dust monsters and, through sheer recklessness and blind luck, I had somehow killed a being who could not be killed.
I had also come dangerously close to losing my heart to a man who crashed into my life as a colossal opposing force and turned everything upside down, a dangerous Immortal Magistrate and Shadow Warrior, a man who possessed insurmountable power and about whom I knew very little—all bad news.
And maybe I was already, you know, a wee bit in love but being with him was quite impossible. Our energy cores and etheric essences were so unique and potent that physically bonding with him was out of the question unless I wanted to announce to all magic kind that I possessed the rarest, most powerful morning magic, a fact that would entice legions of assassins and heinous monsters and, I don’t know, colossal ancient sea turtles.
I had tried to convince myself we could be together in a platonic sort of way, but we were borne ceaselessly towards each other’s light like moths. We would destroy each other and, likely, put the entire world in jeopardy. Horror would one day find a way to break free. I needed to lie low. I needed to grow stronger.
“I’m not convinced,” I offered my college friends. “What else you got?”
“Oh, we have plenty,” Elsa said. “Where should I begin?”
She kept talking, but I only half listened. An electric current tingled my fingers and toes, making me shiver. An unmistakable sign of raw supernatural power rushed through the vicinity.
I took in a few quick breaths. I hadn’t sensed magic or the faintest sign of an etheric essence around me since I returned to Sweden two months ago to complete the semester. Winter had kept his promise and had pulled my Immortal watchers. Stockholm was not a hub for the supernatural. The few that called the city their home resided in the northeastern island-suburb of Lidingö near the region’s only portal to the Deep Down.
Across the street, above the trees, a murky silhouette stood on top the Katarina Church bell tower, glimmering in the silvery twilight. In a blink, the figure leapt onto a lower cupola, then onto a balcony and vanished from sight.
My breath caught in my throat.
I heard Elsa’s voice from far away. “It’ll simply be divine.”
“Sophie,” Göran said. “Earth calling. Hello?”
What are they even talking about?
“I’m here, sorry, I…”
My friends took on a look of concern.
I rose from my seat. “I need the restroom.”
Elsa quickly followed. “I’ll join you.”
I stopped cold in my tracks. “No need, Elsa, I’m suddenly vanquished. I think I’ll head back to the dorms to crash out.”
“Okay,” Elsa said, “but I actually have to go to the bathroom.”
I gave her a quick hug before she walked off.
Göran raised a scolding eyebrow at me. “It’s not even midnight, Cinderella. Stay for a night cap.”
I knew I had disappointed them both, but it couldn’t be avoided. I dashed out into the street. Instead of heading the other way like a sensible person, I crossed the cemetery grounds to the sublime Church of Katarina and its elaborate baroque architecture. I strained my neck to look up to the tower where the figure had appeared out of thin air moments ago.
A whiff of magical essence teased my nostrils, making me sneeze. The cemetery, which was opened for the victims of the Stockholm Bloodbath in 1520 after the Danish King Christian II executed a whole slew of Swedish nobles, stretched all around the church.
Following the magic, I scurried around headstones and green leafed oaks and birch trees until I came onto a narrow cobblestone alley between two burgundy brick buildings. On the far end, the alley became plank steps that descended all the way down to the ocean.
The sky above my head darkened with heavy clouds spreading out like the wings of gigantic vultures. A viscous, shadowy presence slid down the walls, carrying a cold mist onto the ground and my shoes. The dim moon greeted me with silver energy. I drank it up as fast as possible.
Inhaling, I shuffled my feet along the alley to get to the water, the tingling in my hands spreading to my core as I moved closer. The increasing certainty that I was being followed began to feel like an Immortal etheric essence.
Something rustled ahead, the sound rippled through the ground and the walls around me. I focused internally, steadying my energy for battle.
A shape glided out of the dark at the end of the alley to block my way, engulfed in a shimmering electric blue aura. Something familiar, yet unknown. It called to my core as if it had known me since before I was born.
“Hello, Luna Mae of Astoria, she who was born of mist,” Winter said, grinning from ear to ear. “I hoped you would notice me.”
“Yeah, I saw your Parkour theatrics,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Nice gothic backdrop. You should make YouTube videos. You could be a whole vibe.”
He smiled, knowing full well what that did to me.
© 2021 Stella Fitzsimons. AllRightsReserved
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