An Unexpected Viking: Sveyn & Hollis: Part One (The Hansen Series - Sveyn & Hollis Book 1)

by Kris Tualla

“Fine.” Hollis sucked a bracing breath, held it, and pulled the doors open.

  The living room was empty.

  Her shoulders sagged. Both relief and disappointment prickled her limbs, but if she was honest the disappointment was stronger.

  “That’s it, then.” Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that there was a second reason to open these doors. “Time for breakfast.”

  Hollis patted her sparkle-encrusted back pockets, confirming that the room key was in one and her phone in the other, and walked the length of the living room. The empty Chardonnay bottle stood upright on the kitchenette’s counter; its green glass gleamed dully in the curtain-diffused morning light.

  “It’s all your fault, you know,” Hollis muttered as she grabbed the bottle by the neck and dropped it in the plastic wastebasket.

  The glass protested its innocence with a loud clunk.

  Whatever.

  With another resolute sigh, Hollis opened the suite’s door.

  No Viking stood outside of it. Hollis stepped into the hall and turned left as the door closed behind her. Adrenaline shot through veins when she spied Sveyn down the hallway, arms folded and leaning one shoulder on the wall, watching a family of hotel guests pass by.

  He looked at her and smiled. “Good morning.”

  Hollis wrinkled her nose in mock disgust to keep from smiling back at him. “I was hoping you were gone.”

  “Not this day.” He straightened. “Did you sleep well?”

  She glanced behind her to see if there were witnesses to her insanity. “I never do in a strange bed. What about you?”

  “I never sleep.”

  Her regard shot back to his. “Never?”

  Sveyn wagged his head. “I only close my eyes and then I open them someplace else.”

  “Don’t you mean sometime else?”

  The Viking flashed a crooked grin. “Both. Will you break your fast now?” He motioned for her to pass by him.

  Hollis strode towards the elevator. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  His deep chuckle trailed after her.

  *****

  Hollis missed about half of what was presented by the various authors that morning. When their included-in-the-ticket lunch was finished, she went back up to her room to try and take a nap. At least when her eyes were closed, she couldn’t see the constant companion who had shadowed her for the last several hours.

  In his defense, Sveyn didn’t hover. He kept his twenty-five-foot distance, and seemed to try and focus on the general goings-on instead of watching her like the hawk that she was, watching him.

  “He is used to being mostly invisible,” Hollis grumbled to the empty elevator. “But I’m not used to having unrelenting, invisible company.”

  Sveyn was on the second floor landing when the elevator doors opened. “I am sorry.”

  Hollis frowned and stepped out. She began walking to her room, and the Viking fell into step with her. “Sorry for what?”

  “Always being visible. To you.” He shrugged one shoulder. “The second common reaction, once my presence is accepted, is the realization that I am always present.”

  “I’m just used to being alone, is all.” Hollis swiped the keycard and opened her door.

  Sveyn followed, slipping inside before the door closed. The look he gave her was pensive. “Alone? You are not married?”

  “Nope.” Hollis stuck the keycard back in her pocket.

  “I must admit,” he continued. “I am quite surprised that a woman as beautiful as yourself is not married.”

  Hollis dropped her event book bag on the carpet. She knew Sveyn meant the comment as a compliment, but his words poked the hornets’ nest of doubts and anger which seemed destined to remain lodged inside her ribcage.

  She met Sveyn’s gaze. “He finally decided, after ten years together, that he was in love. Just not with me.”

  Sveyn huffed without actual breath. “This man is clearly an idiot.”

  “Which makes me the idiot who wasted a decade on him.” Hollis blinked and rubbed her eyes. Matt had already prompted more of her tears than he was worth.

  Maybe after I adopt the feral cats, I’ll release them inside his house.

  The Viking looked suddenly sad. “There are times, I believe, when we want something so badly, that we see only what we want to see.”

  Hollis ignored the implied suggestion and its screaming ramifications. Instead, she tilted her head and changed the course of their discussion. “How is your English so good?”

  Sveyn looked surprised. “Am I speaking English?”

  Hollis blinked. “Oh my God.”

  His expression didn’t change. “What?”

  “I am imagining you!” With a groan, she fell back onto the couch and crossed her arms over her eyes. “Of course you speak English—because I don’t speak Norwegian!”

  Sveyn’s voice was not far from her ear. “Forstår du mine ord nå?”

  Hollis lifted her arms and looked at him from under their canopy. “What?”

  “Repeat these words: forstår du mine ord nå.” His questioning gaze was narrowed.

  She did. “What does that mean?”

  Sveyn looked relieved. “It means ‘do you understand my words now.’ If you were imagining me, you could not know that.”

  Hollis sat up. “But I could imagine I know Norwegian.”

  “Do you have a book of Norsk words?”

  Hollis laughed. “Sure. In my pocket.”

  Sveyn’s eyebrows lifted. “May I see?”

  She threw her hands up. “No! I don’t have a Norwegian dictionary! Why would I? Why would anyone?”

  A sudden realization jabbed her. “But I do have this…” Hollis pulled her phone from her hip pocket and held it up.

  The Viking’s gaze moved to the landline apparatus on the end table, and he pointed at the ugly relic. “Is that a telephone?”

  She nodded, confused by the shift. “Yes. How do you know that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I have seen countless things as I manifest. And the last time, in the second war against Germany, I saw many types of telephones.”

  The possibilities of tapping into the Viking’s vast and accurate store of historical knowledge rolled over her and Hollis broke into a sweat. If he was real, and his story was true…

  Before she could corral even one of a million questions that sprouted in her mind, he pointed at her cell. “You called that lighted rectangle a phone. Is that a telephone as well?”

  Hollis gazed stupidly at the object in question. “It’s actually a smart phone.”

  “Where are the wires?”

  “It’s wireless.”

  “Like the radio.” His brows pulled together. “Why is it smart?”

  “Because it can do so much more than make phone—telephone—calls. It’s actually a computer,” Hollis offered, wondering.

  “Oh?” Sveyn stroked his beard. “What does it compute?”

  Hollis shook her head. “Not like that. Here, let me show you.” She patted the couch cushion and Sveyn sat down beside her.

  She lifted the phone to her mouth. “Okay Google. Translate ‘do you understand my words now’ into Norwegian.”

  Forstår du mine ord nå appeared on the screen.

  Hollis stared at Sveyn.

  Sveyn stared at Hollis.

  “You are real,” she breathed.

  “What else can this phone do?” he countered.

  “Do you remember everything you have seen?”

  “Does it know other languages?”

  Hollis leaned back, her original question recalled. “How did you learn English?”

  Sveyn ran his fingers through his hair, but his hair didn’t move. “I am not sure. I believe I can speak in the language of the person I manifest to. Or at least, they understand me.”

  “What places have you been to?”

  “Norway, of course. I was in England during the Black Death.” He wrinkled his brow. “I have been in America since the
eighteenth century. And I was in Italy during the second war with Germany. But I was with an American.”

  “Both Europe and America then,” Hollis observed. “Why, I wonder.”

  Sveyn’s expression turned contemplative. “I always understand when I am spoken to and I suppose I answer in the same tongue. But no one has asked me these things before.”

  Hollis narrowed her eyes and tapped one finger against her lips. “What shall I do, Viking, if I have lost my mind?”

  Sveyn flashed a rueful smile. “I am not a Viking now.”

  “That’s right. You said that.” Hollis sighed. “But whatever you actually are, I find you damned interesting, as well.”

  Chapter Four

  Tuesday

  September 8

  Hollis pulled into the employee parking lot at the Arizona History and Cultural Center, wondering how she was going to explain her Labor Day weekend to her co-workers. Miranda was going to expect to hear every detail, and would not be pleased to hear that Hollis spent so many hours alone in her room.

  Well, sort of.

  When she returned home yesterday afternoon, Sveyn rode in the passenger seat beside her—it seemed too rude to drag him by his tether, even though he said that didn’t hurt him. But she was starting to think of him as a friend, albeit not one she could introduce anyone to.

  Or tell anyone about.

  “This is where I live. Number five-seventeen.” Hollis said as she opened the driver’s door. Then she turned and asked, “Do I need to open your door?”

  Sveyn shook his head and moved through the closed passenger door. Hollis shuddered and climbed out like a normal person.

  “Do you know what is significant about the number five-seventeen?” he asked.

  Hollis pulled her small suitcase from the back seat of her car, too exhausted by the unexpected turn of events during her supposed-to-be relaxing weekend to want to figure out the answer. “No. What?”

  Sveyn grinned. “May seventeenth is Norway’s Constitution Day. It is our Fourth of July.”

  “Five-seventeen. I get it.” Hollis gave him a tired smile. “Come with me.”

  “I have no choice, remember?”

  Hollis blew an exasperated sigh at his obvious comment and got out of her car, briefcase in hand. She pushed the key fob twice so that the reassuring beep of the car’s horn confirmed it was truly locked.

  She warned Sveyn when they left the condo this morning that she was no good before coffee so not to expect conversation. Thus the ride to the museum was made in blissful silence.

  “There you are!” Miranda’s deeply musical voice greeted Hollis as if she had been gone for a month. “How was the weekend?”

  Hollis managed a cheerful grin and hugged the very tall, very sturdy brunette. “It was more interesting than I thought it would be, I must admit. Thank you for making me go.”

  “Were the men cute?”

  Hollis turned toward the petite and blonde twenty-six-year-old registrar who worked by her side every day, logging in the museum’s acquisitions. “Yes, Stevie. All were appropriately hunky.”

  Stevie lifted her over-sized coffee mug in salute. “I’ll go with you next year. I don’t care who graduates, gets married, has a baby, or dies. I’m there.”

  Hollis nodded, still smiling. Another weekend like this one, and she’d need a full week of recuperation afterwards. She could see Sveyn in her peripheral vision, standing off to the side, but she forced herself not to look at him.

  “Time for work, ladies.” Miranda motioned for Hollis to follow her into her curator’s office. Stevie was right behind her. “You have a new project, Hollis. A mandate from Mr. Benton, himself.”

  Hollis sat in front of Miranda’s desk while Stevie hovered close behind her. The museum’s director was a man on a mission, and Hollis winced. “I’m ready. I think.”

  “As of today, construction on the wing for Ezra Kensington’s hoard is ahead of schedule. The opening has been moved to December first.” Miranda lifted a brow and gazed at Hollis over a pair of bedazzled readers. “That’s the first bit of news.”

  Stevie gave a little gasp behind Hollis.

  “Please tell me that processing the collection does not have to be completed by then,” Hollis pleaded.

  Miranda shook her head. “It doesn’t. In fact, Mr. Benton thinks that rolling out the new items in waves might draw repeated attendance.”

  Hollis heaved a relieved sigh. “That’s creative. And it should actually work.”

  “I think so, too. And that’s where your new project comes in.” Miranda clasped her hands on the desktop in front of her. “Mr. Benton wants to give the public a taste of what’s to come by posting photos on the museum’s website.”

  “Photos of the new acquisitions?” Hollis mentally rummaged through the items she had already deemed museum-worthy. “We can do that, I think.”

  Miranda grinned. “You two can take the photos, and the tech guys can upload them to the site.”

  “How many items?” Stevie asked, stepping forward with her coffee mug gripped in her hands. “And how often?”

  “There should be an Object of the Week posted every Monday, at the least,” Hollis suggested. “Do you think we need more than that?”

  “Ooh! We could do a Mystery Item every week, too!” Stevie’s eye rounded. “Some of those things that we can’t figure out what they are?”

  When Stevie suggested that idea, Hollis looked at Sveyn who was standing in the corner, listening. She couldn’t help it. The idea that he might know what some of those oddball items actually were intrigued her.

  She returned her gaze to Miranda. “We could offer an incentive, like a year’s membership to the museum, if anyone figures out what the mystery items are.”

  Miranda nodded, her eyes twinkling. “Mondays are the Item—let’s go ahead and call it the Object—of the Week, and let’s say Thursdays are the Mystery Items.”

  Hollis did a quick count in her head. “That is only twelve of each type if we start next week. I think that sounds doable.”

  Stevie set her cup on Miranda’s desk and folded her arms. “Will we have to continue posting after the wing opens?”

  Miranda spread her hands. “I don’t know. I suppose that depends on the response.”

  “Tell Mr. Benton that we will do our best between now and December.” Hollis glanced at Sveyn again. “And if the idea proves itself, and does not interfere with cataloguing the rest of the hoard, then we might continue.”

  Miranda turned to her right. “What are you looking at?”

  “Nothing. Sorry.” Hollis felt her face flush. “I was just thinking about what items we already have.”

  Stevie turned to face her. “Shall we get started?”

  “Sure.” Hollis rose to her feet. “Unless there is something else we need to discuss?”

  “No. That’s all.” Miranda flashed a toothy smile. “Happy hunting, ladies!’

  Stevie grabbed her empty coffee cup and practically skipped from the curator’s office. “What do you think of making calendars from the photos? There will be twelve of each, after all.”

  Hollis shook her head; Stevie’s energy level was over the top. Probably a combination of youth and constant caffeine.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she cautioned her friend. “We have a ton of work already.”

  *****

  When Tempe resident Ezra Kensington the Fifth died at the age of one-hundred-and-five, he had never been married, nor spawned any children. Ezra spent his life traveling through Europe and America, gathering as many unique items as he could—legally or not—and packing them into his three-bedroom Craftsman bungalow on half-an-acre of overgrown Tempe farmland.

  Apparently, the four Ezra Kensingtons who preceded him were exceedingly careful with their money, and Ezra died a very wealthy, albeit very quirky, man.

  His bequest of everything in his home, plus the twelve million or so dollars in his bank account, was enough to convi
nce the Arizona History and Cultural Center to amend its mission statement to allow for the non-Arizona Territory wing to be built.

  “What is a mission statement?” Sveyn asked. He was following Hollis down the aisles of the already crowded museum’s collection storeroom, seemingly enthralled by both the story and the collection.

  “It’s a statement which explains why the museum exists,” Hollis explained. “Up until now, all of the museums in Arizona only collect and display items from this land’s past.”

  Sveyn nodded and leaned closer to a shelf of horned cups. “And now, they will display all of this?”

  “Well, some of this. Not everything’s worth the effort.” Hollis picked up a handful of coins. “Do you recognize these?”

  Sveyn’s cheeks split into a wide grin. “These are Norse. I was paid with these.”

  “Yep. But while they are old, they are not unique.” Hollis dropped the coins back into their labeled box. “Coins like these can be found all over Scotland, Ireland, England…”

  “Where we went viking.” Sveyn’s smile faded. “And where some of us settled.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hollis?” Stevie called out. “Who are you talking to?”

  As the blonde rounded the end of the aisle, Hollis waved her hand. “Just talking to myself. It gets a little creepy in here sometimes.”

  Stevie shuddered. “I agree.”

  Hollis walked toward her. “Did you need something?”

  Stevie nodded. “The crew is ready to go back to Kensington’s and retrieve another load.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow.” Stevie sidled closer. “Can I come this time?”

  Sveyn had walked up behind Stevie. He looked as excited as she did. Hollis was outnumbered.

  “Sure. Let’s all go.”

  *****

  “Why are you not happy about going to that man’s house?”

  The question surprised her. “You could tell?”

  “I could.”

  Hollis, stretched out on the couch, looked at Sveyn over the pint of her coffee-flavored Häagen-Dazs. “Do you know what a hoarder is?”

  He shook his head. “No, I do not.”