by Kris Tualla
Hollis turned around to face him. “I did wake up a lot.”
He looked down at her, his long, dark-blond hair brushing his scruff-bearded cheeks. “But you went back to sleep each time. I made certain of that.”
Hollis felt like her heart could burst—not only with love for Sveyn, but with soul-searing grief that he was only an apparition and not a fully-fleshed man.
“What am I going to do with you?” she lamented.
She turned around again, away from those intense blue eyes, and resumed brushing her hair. “The day you leave me and manifest forward to some other time and some other person, I will be a total wreck. You know that don’t you.”
He looked sad. “As will I, Hollis.”
A thought occurred to her and she pointed the hairbrush at the mirror. “You could manifest to someone else while I’m still alive, though, couldn’t you?”
Sveyn recoiled a little. “How long do people live in this time?”
“My life expectancy is at least ninety years. And I’m only thirty.” She whirled to face him again. “If you jumped ahead anything less than sixty years, I might catch up with you.”
“Ninety years?” Sveyn’s tone was incredulous. “This does present a possibility that has never existed before.”
“Would I still be able to see you?”
Sveyn spread his hands to the side. “I cannot answer that. I would think that yes, you would. And of course I could see you. But there is no way to know this.”
“Well, I am going to say yes.” Hollis put her hairbrush away and grabbed her toothbrush. “On the day that you disappear, I will console myself with the belief that I will see you again before I die.”
“This conversation has taken a rather morbid turn, has it not?” Sveyn moved to sit on the counter beside the sink so he was face-to-face with her. “I cannot predict what will transpire and I have no control over my manifestations as you know.”
“I know.” Hollis squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush. But I don’t want to think about that.
“And yet, I will say this once more, Hollis.” He leaned toward her. “I have never felt so strongly tethered to anyone before. You are very, very different.”
“Because I’m a woman,” she deflected.
“And…” His lips curled and his eyes twinkled. “Because you are the dearest love of my never-ending life.”
*****
Miranda appeared at Hollis’s office right after lunch. “Mr. Benton wants to see you.”
Hollis snorted. “He won’t summon me himself?”
“That’s probably because I laid the groundwork for you.” Miranda leaned against the doorframe. “I told him that you should be compensated for additional tasks not originally in your contract.”
“Thank you, Miranda!” Hollis grinned at her boss. “I suppose that this is the one time when being a temporary employee works to my advantage.”
Miranda’s smile dimmed a little. “I’m going to miss you after the wing is opened and all the stuff from the hoard is processed.”
A pang of regret, compounded by her conversation with Sveyn this morning, threatened to derail Hollis’s enthusiastic attention to the task at hand.
“And I’ll miss you and Stevie.” Hollis lifted one shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay in Phoenix. Get a different job.”
“And maybe I’ll convince Benton to make you permanent.” Miranda’s brow smoothed with the happy idea. “That wing and all those artifacts will require constant attention—and they are not in Tony’s wheelhouse.”
Though the museum’s permanent collections manager was the first person at her side when she was abducted, Tony Samoa resisted anything that had to do with the acceptance of the bequest and the changing of their mission statement.
“No they aren’t. Plus he is super pissed about the addition of the wing and all things in it.” Hollis locked her computer and stood. “If Benton offers me a permanent job, we would need to have a very clear discussion about who has authority over what.”
“Agreed.” Miranda turned to leave. “Come see me when you finish. The Jane Austin Tea invitations were just delivered.”
*****
Mr. Benton was the Director of the Arizona History and Cultural Center, and master of all he surveyed—at least in his own mind. He was the one who championed both the acceptance of Ezra Kensington’s bequest before the museum’s board, and wrote the addendum to the mission statement which made that acceptance possible.
He was also the one who kept putting Hollis front and center in the media as he promoted the new wing and its opening. She really hated that.
“Good afternoon, Ms. McKenna.” Benton waved her into his office. “Please have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Hollis sat. Sveyn walked to the other side of the massive desk and stood at Benton’s side.
“Are you recovered from your ordeal?” he asked gently.
Hollis gave the answer she knew he wanted, true or not. Possible employee lawsuits tended to make things messy. “Yes, sir. I’m doing better.”
Sveyn sniffed loudly.
How does he do that with no air?
“I’m glad to hear that.” Benton’s hand hovered over the office telephone. “Would you like a cup of coffee? A bottle of water?”
Wow. This must be some doozy of a request. “No thanks. I’m good.”
“All right, then.” The hand retreated to interlock with its counterpart on top of the polished walnut desk. “First, I want to let you know that I’m very pleased with all that you’ve done.”
Hollis gave him a tight-lipped smile of thanks. “With all due respect, sir, I am nowhere near ‘done’ and the wing’s opening is in three weeks.”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “And it’s shaping up to be a rousing success, thanks to your efforts.”
And your numerous YouTube uploads. Sir.
Hollis waited politely in silence.
“As you know, the museum is receiving dozens of requests a day from interested parties, asking to be allowed to come onto the property and run various scientific tests for paranormal activity.”
Scientific?
Hollis bit her tongue and still did not respond. She wanted Benton to squirm if he was about to make the next several months of her life miserable. And it looked like he was about to do exactly that.
The man’s demeanor shifted suddenly. “Hollis, what was in the room with you?”
Surprised by the question she glanced at Sveyn, realized the tactical error, and quickly moved her gaze in a zigging arch over Mr. Benton’s head before meeting his eyes again.
“Sir, I was in a room with absolutely no light. And when the lights did come on, they blinded me for much longer than the smudge appeared on the camera.”
“Did you hear anything?” he probed.
“No,” she lied.
“Feel anything?”
“Besides panic and a thick layer of duct tape?” she snapped.
Benton blanched. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.”
“You want to know what triggered the motion detectors,” she said evenly. “I’m telling you the absolute truth. I have no logical explanation.”
Benton pounced like a feral cat. “What about an illogical one?”
“Now you have done it,” Sveyn warned. “You have laid your own trap.”
Shut up.
“I’m afraid I don’t have one of those either,” Hollis admitted.
Though his tone was calm, Benton’s expression shrieked that he knew he was back on solid ground. “In that case, doesn’t it make sense to grant some of the more reputable inquirers access?”
Crapsville.
“Like Ghost Myths, Inc.?”
Benton shrugged. “The increased publicity would be good for the museum’s revenue.”
“You’re the Director. It’s totally your call.” Hollis placed her hands on the arms of her chair. “Is that all?”
“I’m afraid not. Relax, Hollis.” Bento
n stood, walked to the front of his desk and assumed the I’m-acting-casual-because-I’m-about-to-screw-up-your-life pose: one leg on the floor, one cheek and thigh resting on the desktop. “I have a proposition for you.”
Sveyn settled into the twin of Benton’s pose, pushing Hollis dangerously close to succumbing to inappropriate laughter.
“Go on,” the Viking said. “But make it good.”
Hollis bit her tongue—literally.
Benton smiled. “Every one of the requests mentions you specifically.”
“I’m not surprised.” She really wasn’t.
“They want you to be present when they make their observations. In case you’re the trigger.”
Let the negotiations begin. “What sort of access are you considering?” she asked.
“After hours, of course,” Benton stated. “I don’t want any of this to interfere with your preparations for the opening. That is the top priority, after all.”
“So then I’m expected to put in overtime hours which are not in my contract?”
This time is was Benton who was caught in his own unintentional trap. Sveyn coughed a laugh.
Benton gave an unconcerned nod. “Yes. I believe that’s the best solution.”
“How much time?” Hollis pressed.
“How much are you comfortable with?” he countered.
Hollis folded her arms. “How much are you willing to pay for?”
Benton folded his arms as well and narrowed his eyes. “How much do you believe your time to be worth?”
“He’s good,” Sveyn muttered.
Shut. Up.
“More than the museum can afford.”
Benton scowled. “Are you refusing to cooperate?”
“No. Not at all.” Hollis smiled. “But I do have a counter proposal.”
Benton remained unmoved. “Let’s hear it.”
Hollis regarded the man. “If anyone wants access to the museum—including the storage room—they’ll have it on our terms.”
“And what terms are those?”
“Access to the public areas on Mondays only, when the front of the museum is closed,” she began. “And access to the collections storeroom only on Monday nights. That way, all of my disruptions are limited to one day a week.”
Benton nodded. “I can agree to that.”
“And we don’t begin scheduling anyone until December after the wing opens. There’s just too much to be done before that.”
The director nodded again and stood. “That’s an acceptable stipulation.”
“But I’m not finished.” Hollis stood as well. “There is one more condition.”
“Your compensation, I assume.”
Hollis nodded. “I know the museum is on a tight budget—which is why you want the publicity. But there is no reason for you to take my overtime out of the operating budget.”
“Then where—”
“Charge these ‘scientific’ investigators for after-hours access.”
Relief and admiration played across Benton’s face. “How much?”
“A hundred dollars an hour.” Hollis charged forward, hoping Benton would be caught up in her momentum. “Split fifty-fifty.”
“Two hundred,” the grinning director counter-offered. “If they’re serious, they’ll pay it.”
Hollis laughed. “I have no problem with that. And the higher price should limit the number of disruptions.”
Benton circled his desk and started making notes. “Will this be limited to a certain number of hours?”
Hollis said the first number that came to her mind. “Four.”
“What if they want to stay overnight?”
She shrugged. “The price doubles for hours five through eight?”
“Yes. That’s good.” Benton grabbed a pad and scribbled notes on it. “I love it.”
“I hope this does not fire back at you,” Sveyn said.
“It’s only one night a week,” she replied to the Viking without thinking.
Benton looked up at her. “Yes. Only on Mondays.”
Oh, jeez.
Did it again.
When will you learn?
“If we’re done, sir, I do have a lot of time-sensitive tasks to finish today.”
“Yes. Go ahead.”
Before she reached the office door he called out to her. “This is a very good plan, Hollis. I admire the way you think.”
“Thank you, Mr. Benton.” She decided to toss the next concept out there while he was feeling so warmly towards her. “Please remember that when my current contract expires.”
Chapter Three
Miranda handed Hollis one of the fancy invitations to the Jane Austin Tea.
“Of course, once we let the Jane Austen Society people know that we found a signed copy of Mansfield Park in the hoard, the original fifty tickets sold out in thirty minutes! So we added fifty more and they were gone by the end of the day,” Miranda said. “These invitations are just part of the promised experience.”
“One hundred JASNA members and all of them in costume,” Stevie effused. “It’s going to be so much fun!”
Hollis looked at Stevie. “George will dress up, of course.”
“What?” Miranda’s head swiveled to face Stevie. “George has a costume?”
Stevie’s cheeks bloomed red. “George is a man of many interests.”
“Did I hear my name?” George Oswald walked through Miranda’s office door. “What are we talking about?”
Stevie handed him one of the invitations. “The Regency tea at the end of the month.”
George grinned when he saw the parchment-and-calligraphy card. “This is very well done. Very authentic.”
“Hollis told us that you’ll be in costume.” Miranda was clearly struggling to hold back her amusement.
“Costume is not the correct term.” He handed the invitation back to Stevie. “My suit is made from a pattern of the era and in historically correct fabrics. There are many of us who see this as a viable way to keep the history of the Regency era alive.”
Stevie beamed at her suitor. “And the romance of Jane Austin just makes it fun.”
Miranda regarded George with a renewed level of respect. “Well, I’m looking forward to the afternoon.”
George turned to Hollis. “Will you be there?”
Hollis hadn’t planned on it. While she loved Jane Austin, she wasn’t the dress-up-and-play-tea type of gal. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ve been trying to convince her ever since the idea first came up,” Stevie groused.
“I don’t have a ticket, and it’s sold out.” Hollis shrugged. “It’s too late.”
“Don’t be silly.” Miranda gave Hollis an invitation. “You can be one of our guest speakers.”
Ugh.
Just kill me now.
“What would I speak about?” Hollis waved the parchment card toward Stevie and George. “The JASNA members know way more about Jane Austin and Regency society than I do.”
“You could tell us about finding the book in the hoard,” George suggested. “What it felt like to hold a book that she once held.”
“And how we verified both the signature and the age of the book,” Stevie added.
Hollis shifted her gaze to Miranda. She was clearly losing this battle but tossed her last objection anyway. “I don’t have a cos—historically accurate dress. So I’d be out-of-place.”
“That’s an easy fix. We’ll find you something, won’t we George?” Stevie looked to the lawyer for support.
“Of course.” George shifted his gentle brown eyes to Hollis. “Please say yes, Hollis. The Jane Austin Society of North America would be very honored.”
“I’ll think about it,” was all she was willing to concede. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No.” George’s deportment shifted. “I wanted to talk to you. About Everett Sage.”
At the mention of her abductor’s name, Sveyn strode into the office. When he wasn’t in sight, Hollis kn
ew the Viking was always within a hundred yards of her—his invisible tether prevented him from wandering farther from her side.
He had taken to exploring recently, returning to her when he heard her say anything of interest. In this case, her inquiry as to why the lawyer was visiting must have piqued his curiosity.
“Let’s go to my office.” Hollis walked out the door without another word to anyone else.
*****
Hollis sat at her desk. George sat in the chair which faced it. Sveyn positioned himself to the side where she could see him.
“What’s going on, George?” Why did her voice sound so shaky?
“You know that Sage’s lawyers are negotiating a plea agreement with the court and the museum,” George began. “It’s a logical step, since the man has no previous criminal record.”
Hollis understood from the beginning that this was a possibility, no matter how badly she wanted the man to fry. Or hang. Or have his balls cut off and stuffed down his throat. “How does that affect me?”
“It means he admits guilt to a lesser charge, so there is no trial.” George’s expression was kind. “You won’t have to testify in court.”
“That’s a relief,” Hollis and Sveyn said in tandem. She looked at her desk and tilted her face ever so slightly toward the apparition in acknowledgement.
“And there is more.” George looked unaccountably pleased. “Once he pleads guilty you can—if you want—file a civil lawsuit against him and ask for damages.”
Hollis straightened. “What kind of damages?”
“Financial. To make up for your personal pain and suffering, plus the disruption of your professional life.”
“I can do that?”
“You can. And he seems to have money.” George looked at her, as if trying to discern her thoughts. “I can put our forensic accountant on the case today, if you’re interested.”
Hollis wanted so badly to hear what Sveyn thought, but wasn’t sure he could understand the legalities. She didn’t dare look at him, though. Not with George being the only other person in the room.
