Natalis Invicti—short for Dies Natalis Solis Invicti. Once a Roman festival celebrating the birth of the Unconquered Sun, it has transformed into a global phenomenon fueled by capitalism and Western dominance. While families typically gather on December 25th, the frenzy begins weeks in advance. It’s the season of booking flights home, shopping gifts for your loved ones, decorating the Natalis Invicti tree and house, unearthing ugly sweaters, and most of all, securing an invitation to a party. And in this city, there is no invitation more coveted than one from the Dressrious Salon.
Tonight’s tree-lighting ceremony was merely an appetizer for the marvels to come, yet it had already attracted throngs of guests before sunset. Trevor, Spion, and Report Man grabbed a quick dinner at a booth in the party hall—nothing fancy, just a spread of seafood pastas, cheese balls, salads, wings, and salamis. As the plates cleared, they turned their attention back to the case of the Gotham Hotel fire.
“Have you asked Style about the security footage yet?” Spion asked.
“Not yet. He’s due back at the Salon later; I’ll catch him then,” Report Man replied.
“Our suspect has to be someone who knows him intimately, his ex-wife is a perfect entry point,” Spion mused, then his voice laced with disappointment. “I’m surprised even Gossip News hasn’t dug up more on his romantic history. The latest post just rehashes the drama and tells us to ‘stay tuned’ for more.”
“Even Gossip News needs a lead,” Trevor shrugged, taking a sip of his orange smoothie. “We can either wait for others to find something or dig it up ourselves.”
Spion snorted. “Let’s hope tomorrow yields more.” He finished his boiled egg and lowered his voice. “I also did a bit of scanning through Professor Antonius’s diary while I was bored on campus. It’s… dense.”
“I haven’t had a chance to look. What did you find?” Report Man asked.
“Same here,” Trevor added. “Too much Greek and Latin for me.”
“I skipped the foreign languages for now,” Spion explained. “But I found a section of his personal journal. It seems most of his data was sent to him by the Victor. However, the Professor discovered that some of those records actually belonged to a witch named Anglia who lived in Salem. He went there two months ago, only to find that Anglia had been murdered and her house ransacked.”
“Let me guess,” Trevor interjected, “the local police never caught the guy.”
Spion nodded. “They wrote it off as a simple burglary, but the Professor was convinced it was linked to the data Victor sent him. That was the moment he started to suspect Victor.”
“Another murder,” Report Man muttered, jotting a note in his leather notebook. “Perhaps a trip to Salem is in our future.”
“Bob’s mother lives in Salem,” Spion noted. “Maybe she can help us.”
“Wait—is she a witch?” Trevor asked, intrigued.
“A practicing one,” Spion confirmed.
“No wonder Bob is so obsessed with Potions,” Trevor said. “Does he have the gift, too?”
“Doubtful,” Spion shrugged, draining his milk.
Report Man checked his phone as a message lit up the screen. “Lady News is having dinner with her brother; she won’t be making it tonight.”
After finishing dinner, they spent a few minutes discussing their holiday plans. Report Man was heading to the Alps for a skiing trip with Dr. Fit and a group of friends following Natalis Invicti. “I just hope we can finish the case before then,” he remarked. Spion planned to remain on campus rather than heading back to Frank. “Hope I can find a part-time holiday job,” he explained, “and I might take a tour of the suburbs with some classmates.” As for Trevor, he was staying in the city for a traditional holiday with his father and sister. “I might join you on that tour,” he said to Spion, “if I don’t come up with a better plan.”
At ten to eight, the trio donned their coats and headed to the backyard for the ceremony. The yard was a hive of activity. A massive fir tree stood at the center, flanked by a piano trio playing Natalis Invicti themes. Surrounding the lawn were a dozen crystal dining pods, offering guests a warm, private view of the music and the tree.
“Those pods sold out a month ago,” Report Man remarked as they passed one. “If I’d been faster, we’d be sitting in there instead of shivering out here.”
“It looks like a romantic spot for a date,” Trevor commented.
“I’d never take a date in there,” Spion said dismissively. “It makes me feel like a lab monkey being observed by the public.”
“Well, now I feel much better about being out here,” Report Man chuckled. They all shared a laugh.
As they continued through the crowd, a group of five women drifted past, their voices light with chatter. Trevor caught a familiar voice. “Alisa?”
Alisa turned, her brown shearling coat catching the light. “Trevor! What a coincidence.”
“Waiting for the lights?”
“Yes, I’m here with my friends,” she said, gesturing to the girls beside her.
“I’m with my friends too,” Trevor said, looking back—only to find Spion and Report Man had already walked ahead, Spion throwing a teasing smirk over his shoulder.
“It’s almost time,” Trevor noted, glancing at his watch and trying to think of a way to keep the conversation going. “Actually, I ran into your friend from the party earlier today.” He wasn’t even sure why he’d brought it up.
Alisa looked surprised. “Patric? Where?”
“The Gotham Hotel.”
“Oh, right. He’s staying there,” Alisa said.
“He isn’t interested in the lighting ceremony?” Trevor asked.
“He had to work. He’s with the Messengers, in town on a business trip, so I’m officially off duty as his guide today.”
“That’s good to hear,” Trevor said with a smile.
A sudden roar of excitement went through the crowd. Overhead, several drones began to swarm around the fir tree, forming shifting shapes: falling snowflakes, soaring birds, running elks, and finally, a glowing countdown.
“It’s starting!” Alisa cried, looking around only to realize her friends had also drifted into the crowd.
“Ten… nine…” Trevor counted, catching Alisa’s eye. She joined in, her voice mingling with the hundreds of others in the yard.
When the count hit zero, the drones converged into a blinding golden sun that descended onto the top of the fir. As the “Sun” touched the peak, miles of fairy lights entwined in the branches erupted into life. The yard was bathed in the warm glow of Sol, and the music of Felix Dies Natalis swelled to fill the night.