Shadow Fall: Mist Riders, #4

About the book

An ancient enemy escapes his eternal exile behind the Eternal walls. A seer warns of a cruel sacrifice Luna must make. And the Shield of Time disappears into hands that would use it to destroy reality.

At least, Luna has finished her semester.

Caught between the secrets of the Shadow Master and the allure of the mythic King of Kings, confused by her unresolved feelings for Winter, Luna must gear up for a busy summer break, trying to prevent Horror and an onslaught of power-hungry Immortals from destroying humanity and time as we know it.

CHAPTER 1

THE SUMMER TWILIGHT in Stockholm never gave way to night. I closed my eyes to enjoy the cool 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 three 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.

Enjoy the rest of your night, I said, squeezing his shoulder.

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 waterfront.

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 intensified—the air hummed with the strongest 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.

CHAPTER 2

HE WANTED ME TO NOTICE him? That was his motive to assault my senses with raw, invasive Immortal essence that felt like a rake scraping away layers of my skin? A little psycho, but at least he was my favorite psycho.

There are simpler ways to get my attention than jumping off buildings, I said. You could send smoke signals, or you could hire a mariachi band to serenade me, or, hey, here’s an idea, how about sending a text?

He bent his face at me. The darkness all around us dissipated, replaced by the lovely summer twilight. His eyes flashed those devastating blue sparks. I thought your generation liked the drama.

No, and I’m not a generation, but what’s clear is that you have a serious fetish for roofs.

He grinned. "That’s fair. More accurately, I don’t like to mingle with the human herd down on the ground. They’re all so... optimistic."

An aversion to optimism? That explains a lot.

Right. So, what are you even doing here?

Tomorrow’s your birthday.

That gave me pause. I never mentioned my birthday to anyone here. I mean, why mark the years if you’re going to live forever? Seems trivial if not vain somehow.

Is it? Was I really born on June 9th?

Winter shrugged. That’s what it says on your birth record.

And what? I suppose you’re here for the cake?

He grinned. Had something a little more pulse quickening in mind.

Oh boy. As lovely as that sounds... No, I’ve had quite enough pulse quickening moments for a lifetime.

This from the guy who said we best stay out of each other’s orbits?

He sighed. Only because you won’t be able to control yourself.

Blood rushed to my cheeks. I’m not the one who showed up doing flips off buildings to get my attention. I hated my temper sometimes.

He stretched his arms above his head and slowly rolled his neck from side to side. Ligaments and joints clicked in place, muscles strained and bulged under his tight, black t-shirt. His thick blond hair was barely an inch long and spiked up. He fixed his sparkling eyes on mine. Let’s start again.

Fine, I said. Why are you in Stockholm?

He leaned in to whisper. It’s a surprise.

What is happening? This is not good.

Winter? I caught myself before asking if he had found a way for us to be together.

He led me to a red Volvo parked on the waterfront. I didn’t know much about Volvos, but this one looked like a ’90s model to me, with a longer body and sharper, less rounded lines. There was a dent on the hood. First the Civic, now this haggard carriage. His rides were never chick magnets. I guess he himself was the chick magnet. The car didn’t matter.

I didn’t ask where we were going or how long it’d take. I had come to trust his intentions more than I cared to admit. What would Penelope have to say? She always insisted that Winter posed the greatest danger for me.

Sitting next to him, I breathed in his spicy scent, which I had missed, deeply. My skin hummed from the kinetic intensity of his etheric essence. I felt a compulsive urge to shed everything, including my skin, to feel unhindered the overwhelming sense of self that he brought racing back to my core.

Fifteen minutes later, Winter pulled over in front of the Swedish History Museum on Narvavägen Street. He sprang out, giddy.

It’s after hours, I said as he opened my door.

Winter nodded as he pulled me to my feet. Yeah. How lucky are we?

He walked up the steps with the languid grace of a domestic cat. My ears buzzed as the security systems deactivated one after the other.

Winter placed his open palm on the heavy glass door. The metal frame creaked and shook, and the door glided open. Being a Shadow definitely came with its perks.

We navigated the entryway and found a semi-dark lobby. Winter took my hand and led me down a narrow hallway to the Viking Age Exhibit. He cast a thin energy field that bathed the room in a soft blue light.

I marveled at the displays of rune stones, tunics and cloaks, golden jewelry, heavy weapons and hearth artifacts that dated back to the late 7th century.

Winter took a deep breath in. Feels like home.

I smiled, watching him pace the room. Thought you were Norwegian?

He closed his eyes and inhaled. Aye, I am every man from every land. I ran with the moose across the fjords of Norway and I ran with the moose in the forests of Sweden. I’ve walked with all tribes of man, in all nations. I speak the lost languages, and heirlooms from every time and place take me back.

His voice tailed off as his eyes landed on the display of a long sword withered by time. The blade was blackened, almost petrified with worn edges, but the gold grip was unblemished, smooth and polished.

I was about to tease him about his arrogance, but then a sudden wave of pressure snapped at me, whispering an ancient premonition. Whatever Winter was, he was not human. He walked like a man, he talked like a man, he looked at me like a man, but he was so much more, more even than Immortal and Magistrate and Warrior—Winter was ice and fire, an elemental being born in shadows, a duality equal parts terror and hope.

And thus, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Like ever.

Winter’s eyes remained glued to the weapon encased in glass. The Great Eternal Magistrate gifted me this sword after I became a Shadow Warrior, he said. "It was the time of the Merovinger."

"As in the Merovingian dynasty? I said, impressed. It’s so wild you have memories from the Iron Age. That’s a total trip. And, dude, how absolutely insane is it that museums house your old junk? I mean—"

This isn’t junk, he said, lifting his hand. The blade glowed with a sizzling electric purple, a metallic sheen snaking its way across its length, restoring the sword to its original glory.

My mind reeled. The sword recognized him.

Did you, you know, kill people with this sword?

I carried it with me through the Viking era, the whole of the Middle Ages and the Great War of Gods, Luna Mae.

Yikes.

So, yeah, he said, the blade knew the taste of blood.

It finally dawned on me. Wait, tell me you didn’t bring me here to steal a sword from a national museum?

It’s my sword. Therefore, it’s not stealing. And after I give it to you, it will become your sword.

Oh my god, you’re fucking crazy.

Yeah, we know this.

The sword lit up, this time with a powder blue, as golden sparks frenzied along the edges of the wide blade.

It knows you’re here, I said, mystified. It’s getting excited.

It’s been calling out to me for centuries, he explained. I finally fit it into my schedule to reclaim it.

You can’t just waltz in a museum and steal exhibits. It’s not yours anymore, Jonas, it’s a vital part of humanity’s heritage now.

Huh, you humor me with your lingering human attachments. That’s something you’ll have to overcome.

Okay, I don’t have to do anything you say. It’s a new world. I identify as human, and I always have. That’s none of your business.

Winter regarded me with a condescending smirk. "You identify as? Really? Okay, well, you and your humans would claim the entire universe, quickly mass produce it, use it and crumple it up while your minds tumble into the numbing abyss of your digital screens. What you all call the future, I call the bitter end. Regardless, they can’t have the past as well to label incorrectly and mummify in these little glass tombs."

That’s called a rationalization, I said, softer than intended.

The glass case erupted and disintegrated into sparkly particles that spiraled to the ground like glitter. The sword shot upwards and flipped, landing perfectly in Winter’s hand.

The thief’s face flickered with a silver aura. He pivoted toward me. Sparks lit up the center of his eyes while his second hand joined his other hand in raising the sword.

Now the fun bit, he said.

Huh? The... what?

I felt him release control of the museum security systems. The alarms instantly sounded off.

Oh. I get it. He’s bored.

"You idiot. You just want to get me expelled."

He twirled the sword expertly, then tossed it in the air with one hand before catching it with the other.

I just want you to run, Luna Mae, and live a little!

He sprinted off in a blur, leaving me standing alone in the mess of the ransacked