A Restored Viking: Sveyn & Hollis: Part Two (The Hansen Series - Sveyn & Hollis Book 2)
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Also By Kris Tualla:
Medieval:
Loving the Norseman
Loving the Knight
In the Norseman’s House
Renaissance:
A Nordic Knight in Henry’s Court
A Nordic Knight of the Golden Fleece
A Nordic Knight and his Spanish Wife
18th Century:
A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery
A Discreet Gentleman of Matrimony
A Discreet Gentleman of Consequence
A Discreet Gentleman of Intrigue
A Discreet Gentleman of Mystery
and
Leaving Norway
Finding Sovereignty
Regency:
A Woman of Choice
A Prince of Norway
A Matter of Principle
Contemporary:
An Unexpected Viking
A Restored Viking
A Modern Viking
*****
For Aspiring Authors:
A Primer for Beginning Authors
Becoming an Authorpreneur
A Restored
Viking
by
Kris Tualla
A Restored Viking is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
© 2015 by Kris Tualla
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.
ISBN-13: 978-1517770242
ISBN-10: 1517770246
This book is dedicated to
Readers Who Post Reviews,
as they are the life’s blood
of any author’s success.
Chapter One
Monday
November 9
Even though Hollis McKenna’s abduction only lasted three hours, and took place more than a week ago, she was still having nightmares.
“Give yourself a break, Hollis,” Stevie chided. “That was a truly terrifying experience.”
The petite museum registrar who worked side-by-side with Hollis cataloging the huge Kensington bequest sipped coffee from an over-sized mug, her concerned gaze pinning Hollis’s.
“I just wish I knew what was happening with Everett.” Hollis felt a too-familiar shiver of fear skate up her spine. “I won’t feel safe until he’s locked up.”
“George is on it. He’ll let us know as soon as the judge makes a decision on the plea agreement.”
Stevie’s suitor George was a God-send. Hollis met him first through an online dating site, but when no chemistry sparked between them she gave Stevie permission to pursue the mild-mannered attorney. Now the two were inseparable.
Hollis turned her back on her friend, both to pour coffee and look at Sveyn Hansen. The Viking ghost gave her a tender smile.
No, not a ghost. An apparition. The man was caught between life and death. Ghosts were dead people and Sveyn hadn’t died.
His obviously un-solid presence was the only thing keeping her sane at this time.
Yes, it was an oxymoron.
Deal with it.
Her drug-facilitated abduction would have ended much more critically if Sveyn hadn’t reacted as violently as he did to her predicament.
Because he didn’t have a physical body, he couldn’t stop Everett Sage from duct-taping her within an inch of her life and locking her in the museum’s huge collections storeroom. The rage and frustration he expressed, however, proved forceful enough to cross into the three-dimensional world and set off the motion detectors.
He saved her before she was permanently injured.
Physically, at least.
Hollis lifted her steaming cup and turned around to face Stevie again. “Let me know as soon as you hear something.”
“I will.” Stevie followed her from the employee break room. “Do you need help with the descriptions?”
“No, I’m almost finished. “ Hollis dragged one hand through her unruly curls. “We can start ordering the labels by the end of the day.”
“That’s good. The opening of the Kensington wing is only three weeks away.”
“Don’t remind me.” Please. Hollis ducked into her office.
When long-time Tempe resident Ezra Kensington the Fifth died unmarried and with no progeny at the age of one-hundred-and-five, he willed a house packed with his life’s acquisitions to the museum.
Though the obsessive-compulsive hoarder’s collection was atypical of the disorder and actually contained numerous museum-worthy artifacts, they were European and American in origin. The Arizona History and Cultural Center’s mission statement limited its displayed artifacts to historical items from the territory.
However, the mission statement was adapted to state including significant international contributions from long-time Arizona residents’ private collections—because Ezra also willed over twelve million dollars to the museum in order to build a wing for his treasures.
Hollis was hired eight months ago as a temporary collections manager to dig through the hoard and categorize what she found.
Her office phone’s speaker beeped. “Hollis, are you there?”
“Yep.”
“Come see me when you have a minute.”
“I can come now.”
Hollis left her office and walked down the hallway of the museum’s administrative area to Miranda’s office. The curator—and her boss—was the opposite of petite blonde Stevie. The attractive brunette was at least five-foot-eleven.
“I just got a call from Mr. Benton.” Miranda waved at the chair in front of her. “Have a seat.”
As much as she respected the museum’s director, Hollis learned pretty quickly that Benton was a media whore.
“What now?” she asked, lowering herself into the chair and steeling herself for the newest onslaught.
“First of all,” Miranda grinned. “He called to tell me that, as part of the plea agreement with Dr. Sage, the museum will demand his half of the Blessing of the Gods, so that it can be displayed along with Ezra Kensington’s half.”
“NO!” The word burst from Sveyn as powerfully as if her constant apparition had breath. He moved into her line of sight. “Hollis, tell her no!”
Miranda’s brow twitched. “What’s the Norse name for it?”
“Velsignelse av Gudene.”
Hollis only knew how to pronounce the name because Sveyn told her. She shot him a warning glance. “I think that’s awesome. And terrifying.”
“Terrifying?” Miranda chuckled. “Don’t tell me you believe that the reunited halves of the icon really can make the owner immortal.”
“No, I don’t.” Hollis sighed and wagged her head. “But look at Sage; the crazies in this world do. Or they will, once they hear about it.”
“Hollis, I beg you. Do not agree to this…” Sveyn growled.
Miranda leaned back in her office chair. “What do you suggest?”
Hollis had actually thought about this scenario. Once the other half of Ezra’s icon was found, she knew Mr. Benton wouldn’t rest until he acquired it.
“I think we put them in the same bullet-proof display case, side-by-side in the direction they are intended to
fit together, but not locked in place.”
Sveyn glared at her. “You are playing with fire.”
Hollis ignored him. “And I’m serious about the bullet-proof part,” she continued. “Otherwise we are just asking for trouble to walk in over and over again and try to take it.”
Miranda made a conciliatory gesture. “I agree. And I’ll tell Mr. Benton the same thing. After what happened to you, I think he’ll go along with that plan.”
“Good. Thank you.” Hollis laced her fingers together. “And what’s the second thing?”
Miranda’s expression morphed into an odd combination of delight and apology. “The YouTube video has over eight million views.”
“Ugh!” Hollis clapped her hands over her face. “Well that’s just crap-tastic.”
“You have to admit that the images of whatever was locked in the room with you are intriguing.”
“And you have to admit that Benton is a media whore.”
The museum’s director had ordered their tech guys to splice together the thermal imaging video before the pitch black storeroom’s alarm went off with the security camera tape when the lights came on. Sveyn somehow appeared on both, first as a green shimmer, and then as a brief murky smudge.
Hollis uncovered her face and groaned. “He must be absolutely thrilled.”
“He is.”
Hollis gave her boss a wary look. “And how does this affect me?”
“We are fielding dozens of calls a day from mediums, ghost busters, and priests who want to exorcise the collections storage area. All of them are asking for access.” Miranda paused.
Hollis tensed.
Her boss continued tentatively, “Access to the storage area… and to you.”
“No way!” Hollis blurted. “If we’re expected to have the Kensington display ready for the wing’s opening on December first, I can’t waste my time talking to whack jobs.”
“Mr. Benton doesn’t consider the guys from Ghost Myths, Inc. to be whack jobs.”
“The cable show?” This was getting worse—and fast. “What do they want? Please don’t say…”
Miranda eyebrows disappeared in her bangs and her mouth got very tiny.
Hollis scowled at Sveyn. “Why me?”
“Because you have a guardian angel. You admitted it. In front of witnesses.” Miranda looked to her right, following the direction of Hollis’s gaze. “Are you looking at him now?”
Hollis jerked her regard back to her boss. “What?”
“You do that a lot. Look to the side like someone’s there.” Miranda stretched her arm out in Sveyn’s direction.
He stepped out of the way. “Just in case.”
“No. It’s just a habit. Helps me think.” Hollis smacked her hands on Miranda’s desktop to reclaim the curator’s attention. “When, where, and how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Is it just the TV show?”
Miranda winced. “Probably not. He did mention ghost-hunting overnights…”
“With me?”
Miranda made that high-brow, tiny-mouth face again.
“Aarrgghhh.” Hollis stood and pointed at her beloved boss. “I’m going to my office now to do my real job. Any assignments outside of my contract will require additional compensation. Let Benton think on that.”
She spun and stalked toward the open door.
“What if he fires you?” Miranda called after her.
“Fine. Let him.”
Stevie was in the hallway, unabashedly listening. “He won’t you know.”
“I know.” Hollis continued her march toward her office. “But if I’m supposed to act the trained monkey, I’d better be very well paid for it.
*****
Hollis dropped the empty wine bottle in the recycle bin and carried the full glass of iced Chardonnay to her living room couch where Sveyn sat, watching a police drama.
“I don’t know what to expect when these paranormal specialists start showing up.” Hollis sat beside the Viking and tucked her legs under her. “Do you?”
Sveyn pulled his attention from the screen. “Do I what, precisely?”
“Know what to expect.” She sipped her wine. When he frowned his confusion and didn’t answer her, Hollis restated her question. “In any of your manifestations, did you encounter spiritualists who could see you?”
Sveyn’s blue eyes narrowed. “No. None that I am aware of.”
“Really?” Hollis found that highly unlikely. “So in your twenty-two previous manifestations, going all the way back to ten-seventy when you became like you are, no one has ever tried to prove you exist? Or tried to get rid of you?”
Sveyn laughed. “Tried to be rid of me? Oh, yes. Six priests have exorcised me.”
“Did it work?”
He leaned closer. “I am not a demon, Hollis. You do know this.”
She did. “But could they feel your presence?”
Sveyn still looked amused. “Not if I had to judge that by the direction they splashed the holy water.”
Hollis took another sip of wine, pondering his answers. She hadn’t thought about it before, but with all the mediums and ghost hunters and other people who claim to be able to commune with the dead, why had none of his other twenty-two ‘manifestees’ ever sought them out?
“What are you brooding on so heavily, Hollis?”
She looked up into his eyes. “I’m just surprised, I guess.”
“Surprised?” Sveyn repositioned himself on the couch so he faced her. “You have asked me four different questions, Hollis. You asked first if I knew what to expect with these people who are contacting the museum. I do not. I have no experience with this.”
Another swallow of Chardonnay gave her a moment to think. “And then you said that no one has been able to see you, other that the men you manifested to.”
“That is correct.”
“And they tried to force you away by exorcizing you, which was obviously futile.” Hollis tilted her head. “What was the last question?”
“Has anyone tried to prove my existence.” The amusement left his expression. “I did tell you that some have spoken of my presence, and that got them into very bad situations.”
“Yes, you did.”
Hollis knew that the passing centuries hadn’t changed things much. If she confessed that she had an apparition tethered to her twenty-four-seven, her friends would definitely urge her to seek professional help. And there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t be locked up against her will for observation, even today.
“That’s what these people who’re asking to come to the museum are going to try to do, I think,” she said. “Prove that you exist.”
Sveyn folded his arms over his chest. The linen of his shirt sleeves was pulled tight by his medieval-life-honed muscles. Hollis wondered if the tight leather pants and laced leather vest were comfortable for him—back when he could actually feel the physical world. The fur wrapped boots obviously made sense in Norway, and luckily for him he was unable to feel the heat of the Phoenix desert while wearing them here and now.
“Will these people be in danger for doing so?” he asked.
“No. Most people think they’re weird, but sane.” She shrugged. “Somehow, it’s more acceptable to go looking for someone else’s ghosts, than to claim you are talking to your own.”
Sveyn snorted. “That does not make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Hollis drained her wineglass, stood, and headed for the kitchen. “It’s time for bed.”
Sveyn pointed at the television. “Will you change to the history channel and turn off the sound?”
Hollis turned around and looked at him. “Why?”
Sveyn stood as well, his six-and-a-half feet towering over her. “It is time, Hollis. You do not need me to lie beside you while you sleep. You are safe here.”
Hollis fought her rising panic and tried to think of a rebuttal that made more sense than Sveyn’s words. Yes, the abduction was ten days past. Yes
, Sage was in jail. Yes, she was safe behind a locked steel door.
Sveyn closed the distance between them. “I will look out for you, as I always do, and awaken you if any disturbances arise.”
Hollis nodded reluctantly and set the glass on the dining table. “All right.”
She walked back to the living room with him following her and grabbed the remote. “You said history channel?”
She punched in the number and hit mute. Sveyn, who never slept in his state of being, would be entertained through the night by reading the captions while he watched the silent screen.
“Thank you, Hollis.” The Viking laid his palm beside her cheek and Hollis felt the familiar electric tingle against her skin. “Sleep well, my love.”
Chapter Two
Tuesday
November 10
Hollis awoke several times that night, in spite of the hefty dose of chilled Chard. Each time, the flickering blue glow from the hallway comforted her. Her own personal Viking guard was at his post, ready to alert her if anything, or anyone, threatened.
Consequently, she was a little groggy when her alarm went off, and for a minute she considered calling in sick. But that would only push back the workload that was already piled high and was now complicated by the flood of media attention which the security video was generating.
She threw off her covers, deciding in a rebellious moment not to make her bed, and went into the bathroom.
“Good morning, Hollis.”
Sveyn’s deep voice washed over her like a warm wave. She did feel so much better with him beside her.
She smiled at his reflection in her mirror while she brushed her unruly curls. “Good morning. Anything good on television last night?”
He shrugged. “I do enjoy the series about odd museum items, for obvious reasons. But I missed some of the stories because I was watching you sleep.”
“You were?” The hand holding the hairbrush lowered. “Why?”
The Viking’s expression was tender in the reflection. “If your sleep was fitful, I would have lain beside you and comforted you with words.”