A Modern Viking: Sveyn & Hollis: Part Three (The Hansen Series - Sveyn & Hollis Book 3)

by Kris Tualla

  “Thank you.” George looked up at Sveyn. “Shall we go collect our lunch dates?”

  As the men left the building and walked toward George’s car, Sveyn said, “You are helping me, and I can help you.”

  “Oh?” George looked skeptical. “How’s that?”

  “I know you are interested in the Regency period in England,” he said. “And Jane Austin in particular.”

  George stopped walking. “What do you know?”

  “Everything.” Sveyn stopped walking as well and turned back to face the clearly gobsmacked attorney. “I manifested in southern England in the early nineteenth century.”

  “Did you meet Jane?”

  “No, I do not believe so. But it seems that I was near where she was.”

  “Clothing? Food?” George stepped closer. “Entertainment?”

  Sveyn laughed. “Yes. All of that. I will make you the most knowledgeable man in the Jane Austin Society.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hi, Mom,” Hollis said into her phone. “How are you?”

  “Hi, sweetie. I’m afraid I can’t talk long. Our movie’s about to start.”

  Hollis was actually glad—now she could ask her question and run. “That’s okay. I just have a quick question. What’s your blood type?”

  Her mom hesitated before she answered the admittedly odd question. “A-positive. Why?”

  Hollis noticed, and instinctively hedged her next question. “The hospital sent me a letter saying that I have type O and they want me to donate. I was just curious.”

  “Ah.” Her mom sounded relieved. “Your dad has O-positive. It’s the most common type. He’s always getting calls from the blood banks.”

  Hollis’s hands began to shake. She tried to keep her voice light as she changed the subject. “So what movie are you seeing?”

  “The new Sandra Bullock one. I have to go, honey. The lights are dimming.”

  “Okay. Love you, Mom. Let me know how the movie was.”

  Hollis stared at her phone, too stunned to hang up. The phone disconnected the call when her mom did.

  She had done some brief research on blood types after her discussion with Miranda and Stevie, and had learned one absolute fact.

  The chances of two positive-type parents having a child with the negative factor was less than one percent. Add in her red hair, and the obvious conclusion was shattering.

  *****

  Something was wrong with Hollis. Sveyn noticed the minute he saw her, and though she was putting on a brave face he was not fooled.

  “Come meet Miranda,” she said. “I told her you were staying with me and I want her to see that you’re not a threat.”

  Hollis left her office obviously expecting Sveyn to follow.

  “I’m going to grab Stevie,” George said. “We’ll catch up.”

  Sveyn wanted to pull Hollis aside and ask her what had occurred, but her actions screamed that she did not wish to speak of it. Not as yet, anyway.

  Hollis knocked on the open door and strode into her boss’s office. “Miranda, this is Sveyn Hansen, my ex-gypsy roommate. I wanted you to meet him so you can stop worrying about me.”

  Miranda stood and her smile slowly fell from her face. “Have we met before?”

  Sveyn shook his head. “No, we have not. I certainly would remember such a beautiful woman.”

  Her eyes narrowed and she ignored the compliment. “But you look so familiar…”

  “Maybe you saw him when he came to apply for the job?” Hollis suggested the impossible scenario.

  “No. That’s not it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll think of it. In the meantime, we’re going to lunch with Stevie and George,” Hollis deflected. “George just took Sveyn to get a fingerprint clearance so he can start getting documented.”

  “Oh. That’s nice.” Miranda’s confused stare remained unmoved. “How are you recovering?”

  Sveyn touched his side. “Very well. Thank you.”

  “He should be well enough to start work as a guard as soon as his paperwork is completed.” Hollis turned to Sveyn. “Shall we go?”

  Sveyn gave Miranda a small bow, careful not to strain his wounds. “It was my pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mine too.”

  Hollis looped her arm through his and led him out. They met Stevie and George in the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” Stevie asked.

  “I’m tired of Mexican,” Hollis said flatly. “Let’s get burgers.”

  *****

  Hollis looked at the strong-jawed man sitting beside her, surprised again not to see a beard. Even though current man-styles involved facial hair, Sveyn looked very good clean-jawed.

  She wished they were alone so she could talk to him about what she learned, but that would have to wait until tonight.

  She considered telling Stevie, but changed her mind. The information that her parents could not be her parents was too new, too raw. She wanted to curl up in Sveyn’s arms—now that she could—and cry.

  “So you need to teach me to write English.”

  Hollis startled. She hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation. “What? Oh. Sure.”

  “You can get some of those primary workbooks where you trace the letters,” Stevie suggested. “There’s a couple of teacher supply stores not too far from ASU.”

  Hollis nodded. “Yes. Good idea.”

  “I was impressed that Sveyn is surfing the web on his new laptop,” George said. “And that he has email and a smartphone.”

  “Really?” Stevie grinned at the Viking. “Are you on Facebook?”

  “No!” Hollis blurted. “That can wait. Maybe forever.”

  Sveyn turned to her. “What is Facebook?”

  “I’ll show you later.” Hollis set her cheeseburger down. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

  Sveyn rubbed her back. “Does your chest hurt?”

  Hollis looked into his eyes and realized that he knew something was wrong and he was giving her a way out.

  “Yes,” she accepted his excuse. “It does.”

  Stevie waved for their waitress. “We need to-go boxes.”

  Hollis shook her head, touched by her friend’s kindness. “We can stay until you finish.”

  “I have to drop Sveyn off and get back to my office anyway,” George said. He handed the waitress with the boxes his credit card. “I’ll get lunch.”

  *****

  Back at the museum, a suspicious Miranda was waiting for Hollis. “I figured it out.”

  Hollis dropped her purse in her desk drawer. “What?”

  “I figured out where I’ve seen Sveyn before.”

  Oh crap. “Where?”

  Miranda closed Hollis’s door then approached her desk. “He looks like your ghost.”

  Crap crap crap.

  Where should she go with this?

  Be as truthful as you can.

  “Now that you mention it, I guess he really does,” she admitted. “How odd.”

  Miranda leaned on Hollis’s desk. “I don’t think it’s odd. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  Hollis huffed a breath against the painful tightening in her chest. “What do you mean?”

  Miranda sank into the chair that was always on the other side of Hollis’s desk. Her expression was a blend of supplication and fear. “If I ask you something weird, would you be honest with me?”

  Here it comes.

  “Yes.” She owed Miranda that much.

  “Is Sveyn your angel, ghost, or whatever, come to life?” Miranda winced. “I do know that sounds crazy, but…” She left the sentence hanging,

  “Yes.” Hollis swallowed, her throat gone dry. “He is.”

  Miranda’s jaw fell slack and she leaned back in the chair. “How in the hell?”

  “Hell has nothing to do with it, I assure you.” Hollis tried to smile at her boss but only succeeded in grimacing. “It’s a long story.”

  “I don’t believe it.” M
iranda’s face paled, then flushed. “Tell me everything—and don’t leave anything out.”

  Telling Miranda Sveyn’s story was a welcome distraction from her other concern. Hollis started at the beginning and explained everything, including her out-of-body experience.

  “And then there he was?” Miranda’s tone sounded as incredulous as the story. “Lying on the ground beside you?”

  Hollis nodded. “And bleeding and bellowing.”

  Miranda sat silent, processing what Hollis told her. “This is unbelievable.”

  “I know.”

  “But the proof just walked into my office.”

  “Yep.”

  The curator’s gaze cut to hers. “Who knows?”

  “Stevie was first. She actually saw him and heard him when he was gaining his senses back.” Hollis looked apologetic. “I didn’t know then that he was beginning to get his body back. That those were the first steps.”

  “If Stevie knew, did George know?”

  “I told them both the whole story that night we watched the Ghost Myths, Inc. show.”

  Miranda nodded. “And George believed Stevie, of course.”

  “That’s why George was so eager to help Sveyn get what he needs to be part of the twenty-first century.”

  Miranda’s mouth twisted. “He never was a gypsy, was he?”

  “No,” Hollis admitted. “But that was the only believable excuse as to why he’s so far off the grid.”

  Miranda remained in the chair, but Hollis was at the end of her composure. “I’m not feeling well,” she said. “My chest hurts so I’m going home to rest.”

  “Yes. Go ahead.” Miranda stood. “Take a pill and take a nap.” She walked to the door, opened it, and left Hollis’s office without looking back.

  Hollis grabbed her purse and her jacket and locked up. She walked past Stevie’s office and stuck her head in.

  “Miranda knows about Sveyn now. And I’m going home.”

  *****

  Sveyn looked up from the laptop when he heard the front door being unlocked earlier than usual. “Hollis?”

  “Yeah.” She stepped through the door and closed it with her backside before dropping her purse and briefcase on the carpet.

  Sveyn stood. “What is wrong?”

  When he saw the corners of her mouth tug downward, he held out his arms. Hollis ran into his embrace and grabbed onto him as if her life depended on his strength. Sveyn held her close, careful of her battered chest, and rubbed her back.

  “Let it out,” he murmured into her sweet-smelling red curls.

  She cried harder, then, and Sveyn grew concerned. He did not dare ask her to speak before she was ready, but whatever had occurred seemed to shake her to her core.

  Even more than the kidnapping.

  Sveyn decided to push himself because the situation called for it. He reached down and lifted Hollis, cradling her in his arms. She curled into him with her face pressed against his shoulder. He felt the wetness of her tears seep through the t-shirt he had changed into.

  With carefully measured steps, Sveyn walked to the couch. He lowered himself to the cushions and settled Hollis in his lap.

  “You will tell me when you are ready,” he whispered. “Until then, I will keep you safe.”

  Hollis’s sobs came in waves. Just when Sveyn thought she might calm herself enough to speak, a fresh spasm claimed her composure.

  Sveyn held her, kissed her hair, rubbed her back, and whispered, “I am here. You are safe.”

  When she reached the point that her breath came in jerky spasms Sveyn shifted her off his lap. He went into the bathroom and came back with tissues and a small towel which he soaked with cold water.

  He gave Hollis the tissues first. After she blew her nose he pressed the cooling towel against her eyes. “Take this.”

  She grasped the towel and used it to wipe her face and soothe her swollen eyes.

  Sveyn went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of sweet white wine and added a couple of ice cubes. He walked back to the couch, squatted in front of her so his eyes were level with hers, and pressed the glass into her hand.

  “Drink some,” he urged. “It will ease your throat.”

  Hollis did as he said, taking two long pulls of the wine.

  “Thank you,” she croaked.

  Sveyn collected the used tissues and stuffed them in his pocket. He folded the towel and laid it across Hollis’s forehead. Then he waited.

  Hollis would not look at him. Her eyes fixed on the wine or the floor or she squeezed them shut and rubbed her lids.

  She seemed unable to talk about whatever had come about. But she was here, with him, and safe. Sveyn could not think of one single thing that they could not conquer together.

  Look what we have overcome thus far.

  He rested his hands on her knees. “Can you speak yet?” he asked gently.

  Her eyes met his then, blue irises in seas of red. “Maybe.”

  Sveyn asked the obvious. “Did someone die?”

  She gave a tiny shake of her head. “No. Not really.”

  Not really? “Are they mortally wounded?”

  “No.” She heaved a jagged sigh, winced, and put her palm over her chest. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Good,” Sveyn said firmly. “This is good.”

  Hollis stared at the wine glass again. “I guess.”

  “Shall I continue to guess?” he asked in his most sincere tone. “Would that be easier for you?”

  Hollis’s features twisted. “You won’t ever guess this.”

  “So you have not been removed from your job, and the museum still stands.”

  Hollis rolled her eyes. There is her spunk. “Right on both counts.”

  “So tell me.”

  She looked at him again and her eyes filled with fresh tears. “My parents lied to me.”

  That was surprising. “About what?”

  “About being my parents.”

  Sveyn sat back on his heels. Hollis’s comments about not looking like either her mother or her father, and how no one else in her family had red hair, slid neatly into what he knew about her.

  He watched her carefully. “How did you discover this?”

  “My negative blood type.” She sniffed and reached for another tissue. “Both my par—both of the McKennas are positive.”

  “Two positive parents cannot ever have a negative child?” Sveyn did not fully understand what that meant, but he put the logic together.

  “Less than a one percent chance.” Hollis blew her nose before she looked at him again. “I have no idea who I really am.”

  Sveyn took her hands in his and stilled, staring soberly into her eyes.

  “What?” She looked scared.

  “There is something about my manifestations I never told you,” he admitted. “Now is the time.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hollis felt like the punches to her battered breast just kept coming. “Now, Sveyn?” she moaned. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “More than you can imagine.” The Viking shifted his position on the floor in front of her. “And it might help your situation to know.”

  Hollis threw her hands up. “How is that even possible?”

  “Just hear what I have to say.”

  Hollis took another gulp of the wine and waved her hand in an irritated go ahead motion.

  Sveyn pinned an intent gaze on hers. He spoke slowly and emphatically. “In every one of my manifestations, it is important for you to understand that I only manifested to Hansens.”

  Hollis frowned. “I don’t understand your point.”

  “Hollis.” The muscles in Sveyn’s jaw rippled. “You are a Hansen.”

  That sounded ridiculously random. “How many Hansens are there in the world?” she asked. “Must be at least a million.”

  Sveyn tipped his head in acknowledgement. “This is very probable. But not all of them descended from my father.”

  Hollis nearly
dropped her wine. “Wait—what?”

  “I have only manifested to direct descendants of my father.” Sveyn gave a small shrug. “You are a Hansen, originally out of Arendal, Norway.”

  Hollis’s hands began to shake. She set her wine glass down before she spilled it. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “I could see it when we met.”

  “What? Was there some magical glow around me?” she snipped.

  Sveyn nodded. “Something like that.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I am not.”

  The ramifications of the Viking’s claim shot a trill of dread through her core. “You’re saying we’re related.”

  “Distantly. Yes.”

  “Is this—” Hollis wagged her finger between herself and Sveyn, “Incest?”

  Sveyn rubbed his mouth and Hollis thought he was hiding his amusement.

  “It’s not funny!” she cried.

  “No, it would not be funny if that were truly the case,” he agreed. “But there are nine-hundred-and-fifty-years of generations between you and my father.”

  Hollis sagged back against the couch cushions. “You never married or had children.”

  Sveyn shook his head. “No. I did not.”

  “So how are we related. Exactly.”

  The Viking ran his hand through his hair. “I cannot be certain, of course, but if there was a generation born every twenty-five years—”

  “At least,” Hollis interrupted. “If you were going to get married in your teens.” She was grasping at straws and she knew it. To think there might be something inherently wrong with her deep love for this man was more than she could handle at the moment.

  Sveyn spread his hands in agreement. “And if we are being conservative, there are at least thirty-eight generations between you and my father.”

  Hollis nodded and her dread began to dissolve. “That’s a lot.”

  “It is.” Sveyn smiled. “And I have manifested to—now—twenty four of them.”

  Hollis reclaimed her wine glass and drained it. The wine’s warmth flowed through her veins and soothed her raw edges.

  “This is too much information for one day,” she murmured.