by Kris Tualla
“Tomorrow?” Stevie moaned. “Really?”
Hollis shifted her gaze to the normally perky registrar. “You don’t have to come, Stevie. I can sort by myself.”
Miranda switched off her office light and pulled the door shut. “I know the opening has been moved forward, but you don’t have to rush.”
“I’m not rushing.” Hollis flipped her hand to indicate a level of disinterest that she was nowhere close to feeling. “That has nothing to do with it.”
Miranda and Stevie stopped their exit and turned toward her. “Then why?” her boss asked.
Facing the statuesque brunette and petite blonde, with Sveyn hovering behind them and staring at her, Hollis grinned and said the only thing that made sense.
“I just have a hunch.”
Chapter Six
Hollis stopped at a grocery store on the way home and picked up a premade deli meal. She wasn’t fond of cooking in general, and since she was the only one eating it seemed unworthy of the effort—and the mess.
Besides that, she was probably saving money by not throwing away unused ingredients, neglected and gone bad. At least that was her rationale.
She poured a glass of merlot to enjoy with her pot-roast and garlic mashed potatoes, carried the aromatic meal to the living room, and sat cross-legged on the couch.
She shot Sveyn a guilty look as he sat on the other end of the sofa. “I feel bad eating in front of you.”
He waved a hand. “If I could smell it, I might be bothered. But I cannot. And I do not experience hunger, so do not be concerned.”
Hollis sliced her pot-roast, which was tender enough to shred. “Do you want to tell me your story now? The one you mentioned this morning?”
Sveyn seemed to sigh, as much as one could without functioning lungs. “I do not tell everyone.”
“Why not?” Hollis forked a heap of buttery garlicky potatoes into her mouth. She stopped herself from moaning her pleasure. Barely.
“First of all, not everyone asks.”
She pointed her denuded fork at him. “I didn’t ask. You offered.”
Sveyn smiled a little. “And secondly, even if they do, I do not always hold forth.”
“But tonight, you will.” Hollis lifted her wine glass. “Tell me. I want to know everything.”
Sveyn leaned closer, one brow lifted in challenge. “Nearly a thousand years of everything?”
“Well… Maybe just the highlights, to start.”
He leaned back again. “What are highlights?”
“The most important bits.”
“Ah.” Sveyn rubbed his beard. “Yes. This morning when you thought I was gone, you said you felt alone. I thought to tell you of the loss in my life.”
“Were you married?” Just the idea made Hollis sad, whether the answer was yes or no.
Sveyn’s only companionship since the incident had been a string of strangers. No matter how long he was here with her, or how well they got along, she was just one more living human outside of his reach.
“No, but I was betrothed.” Sveyn’s expression grew distant, as if he could watch his former life play out. “She was a beautiful girl. We grew up together in Arendal.”
“What was her name?”
“Linge. She had very pale hair, but it sparkled in the sun. Her eyes were the color of new pine needles.”
Hollis’s fork rested on her plate, her meal temporarily forgotten. “She does sound beautiful. How old were you when you were betrothed?”
“Just before both of our bodies matured enough for the marriage act.” Sveyn’s eyes narrowed as he stared at nothing in the room. “About three years later, a date was set and the exchange of contracts and goods began.”
“Did you love her?” Hollis whispered.
“With my whole being,” he murmured.
A realization hit Hollis in the chest. “How old are you? I mean, how old were you when…” She didn’t know what to call his transition.
Sveyn’s head swiveled to face her and he blinked, seemingly surprised to find himself back in her condo. “I am thirty-four. I was born in ten-thirty-six and I was impaled in ten-seventy.”
Hollis was stunned to realize that she was no longer stunned by his claims to be an eleventh-century man. A therapist would have a field day with this, because she was clearly buying into a delusion.
Or maybe it’s real.
Hollis lifted her fork and stuck the chunk of real pot-roast into her mouth.
Sveyn shifted his position on the couch so he faced her more directly. “I started viking with my father and uncles when I was fourteen. Just before my marriage.”
He was to be married at fourteen? Hollis swallowed her bite, trying not to look shocked.
She must not have succeeded, based on Sveyn’s reaction. “I know that sounds so young for this time now, but remember our lives were hard. To live to forty years was expected. To live to fifty was a blessing.”
“I know that here.” Hollis tapped her head. “But to experience it through your story makes it real in here.” She laid her hand on her chest.
Sveyn nodded. “I understand.”
“So what stopped you from getting married, what, twenty years ago?” She waved one hand as if to erase the question. “No. Twenty years earlier, I mean.”
The Viking’s lips twisted in amusement. “Both are correct. At the least they are for me.”
Sveyn rubbed his face before he continued, making Hollis want to ask him if he could feel his own touch.
Later. Don’t interrupt.
I wasn’t going to.
“And as you must know, the raiding always went back and forth between clans.”
“Yes.”
Sveyn’s expression hardened. “On a darkening day, a clan from the lands south of Arendal—across the water—attacked our village. The son of their laird took Linge as his captive.”
Hollis gasped. “Oh, no! What did you do?”
Sveyn spread his palms, as if the answer was obvious. “I made plans to go after her, of course!”
“And did you?”
“After a time. The winter was upon us afterwards, so sea travel was treacherous. We could not sail for two months.”
Hollis was completely sucked in to his story. She had no idea it would include elements worthy of a romance novel—and her apparition was the rescuing hero.
“But you did go. And you found her, didn’t you?”
“We did go.” Sveyn paused. “And I found her.”
Hollis grinned. “Did she run into your arms when she saw you?”
He stared at her, his eyes dark. “No.”
“No?” Hollis’s brow crumpled, then went smooth with her assumption. “Oh, no. Was she dead?”
“No. Not dead.” Sveyn made a disgusted face. “Happy.”
“To see you,” Hollis clarified.
“No. Happy in her new life.”
“With her captors?” Hollis was appalled. “It was Stockholm syndrome!”
The look on Sveyn’s face was such a comical combination of surprise and confusion that Hollis nearly laughed. “No. Aggersborg. In Denmark.”
Hollis rubbed her mouth to keep her unhelpful amusement hidden. “No, Stockholm syndrome is a term which describes a phenomenon where hostages develop positive feelings toward their captors.”
“Enough to marry them?” he growled.
This was getting worse. “She married one of them?”
Sveyn’s jaw tensed, rippling under his beard. “And she said she was already pregnant.”
“But you and she never—”
“No.”
All traces of her humor were gone. Hollis started to reach for Sveyn’s hand before she realized the gesture was fruitless. “Oh, Sveyn. I’m so sorry.”
His brow wrinkled. “Why is this thing called by Stockholm?”
“Because back in the nineteen-seventies, some men robbed a bank there, and held their hostages in the vault for six days. After they were freed, the hostages de
fended the robbers.” Hollis wrinkled her nose. “I was skeptical, but hearing your story makes me wonder.”
Sveyn wagged his head slowly. “Why would someone change their loyalty like that?”
Hollis shrugged. “Back in my psychology class, the professor said that if the victim joins the side of the aggressor, then the aggressor is no longer a threat.”
“I have wondered for all of these years if she never loved me to begin with.” The pain of long-lost love etched Sveyn’s features.
“I’m sure that she did,” Hollis offered. “But she must have been terrified. And she knew that the weather would prevent you from coming after her.”
“Or perhaps my ship sank in the attempt.” Sveyn tilted his head, and his expression eased. “Thank you for telling me this.”
Hollis smiled softly. “So you never got married.”
“No.”
“No children?”
Sveyn shook his head. “I was so hurt by Linge’s betrayal, that I distrusted all women afterwards.”
“I can certainly understand that.” She stabbed the pot-roast. “Matt got married four months after he broke up with me.”
“And now you distrust all men?”
That was an interesting question. “I don’t know. I’ve gone on dates with a few men I met through an online dating service.”
Sveyn looked puzzled. “Men stand on a line?”
Hollis did laugh at that. “No. Online means the internet. It’s the system where computers and phones are connected to each other. You saw us in Miranda’s office, looking up pictures of signatures, right?”
Sveyn nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, there are places on the internet where people who want to meet other people with the same interests can sign up and arrange to go out together.”
“But no man has won you.”
Hollis’s mood sank. “No. Not yet.”
The Viking pointed at her. “Someone will. You are beautiful and intelligent. But you deserve a very good man, so do not choose too quickly.”
Hollis ran a hand over her untameably wavy hair. “You think I’m beautiful?”
Sveyn looked at her like she had asked if gravity was real. “Of course. Why would I not?”
She lifted one shoulder, desperately wanting to believe him. “Not everyone likes redheads.”
Sveyn grinned. “Red hair and blue eyes are best. Even better, I think, than pale hair and green eyes.”
Hollis set her plate aside and grabbed her wine glass. “More beautiful than Linge? Now I know you’re teasing me.”
Sveyn waited until she took a long sip and then set her glass down before he spoke. “I never lie, Hollis. I am telling you what I think. You are the most beautiful woman I have seen.”
“In a thousand years? That’s doubtful.” She ate the last bite of her potatoes.
The Viking looked hurt by her words. “Why do you not believe me?”
Hollis stared at him. “I—don’t know.”
“I will make you believe me.”
“How?”
Sveyn chuckled. “I don’t know.
Hollis stood and carried her plate to the kitchen, needing some space to process what the apparition said. If this was all a delusion, clearly her inner identity was dealing with her battered self-esteem. Maybe it would finally recover.
This could be a good thing.
Hollis returned to the living room. “Thank you for telling me your story, Sveyn.”
He smiled. “I am glad to have done so.”
Hollis glanced at the clock. “It’s not late. Will you tell me about the thing you wanted to show me today?”
“That is work. It can wait until tomorrow.” Sveyn’s eyes twinkled. “Can we watch more television?”
Hollis laughed. “Sure. What do you want to see?”
*****
With Sveyn settled in for another night of binge TV watching, Hollis went to bed. Unfortunately, sleep eluded her. She could not stop thinking about what the Viking said about her.
Beautiful?
Why can’t a real person think that?
The sudden realization that she was quickly forming a dangerous relationship with Sveyn was disturbing. If he really was what he claimed to be, that relationship could never come to fruition. She and the Viking inhabited different…dimensions?
“That’s the way to think of it,” she whispered to the darkness. But even if she could somehow join his dimension, what would that achieve? She might end up bouncing forward through time on a completely different path and never see him again.
Even so, when he called her beautiful, some indeterminate piece of her soul leapt toward him. And when he said she was more beautiful than his once-beloved Linge, Hollis felt a nugget of warmth plant itself in her heart.
Was it possible to fall in love with Sveyn?
Yes.
Was that a good idea?
Not in any way imaginable.
Hollis sat up in bed and reached for her phone, charging on the bedside table. She logged onto her MatchPoint app and read posted messages from prospective suitors.
That one.
Hollis shot off a quick reply that she would love to meet, asked if he was free on Friday, and suggested the Desert Botanical Garden near the museum. If the meeting went well, she would suggest dinner to him afterwards.
Satisfied with her plan of action, she switched the screen off and fluffed her pillow. She laid back down in her favorite position—on her side with a pillow between her knees—and waited for sleep to overtake her.
Oh, what the hell.
Hollis sat up again and reopened the app. Operating on the two-has-got-to-be-better-than-one paradigm, she suggested the same arrangements to the second man on her message list, changing the date to Saturday night.
With two possible dates looming, and both with men who had contacted her first, Hollis settled back into sleep position, confident of achieving a sound and restful night at last.
The last thing she remembered thinking was how badly she wanted to take hold of Sveyn’s hand.
Chapter Seven
Thursday
September 10
Stevie opted to go back to the Kensington hoard after all.
“You never know what else we’ll find,” she said casually over the radio ad for Frozen on Ice. “Maybe more Jane Austen memorabilia.”
Hollis noted the irony of the Disney show’s title and, smiling, glanced in the rear view mirror at Sveyn in the back seat of the museum’s van. He was sitting between two of the interns. She wondered if they could sense his presence, being so close to him, but neither displayed any outward sign that they could.
When the advertisement mentioned the name of Anna and Elsa’s home, Hollis shouted, “Arendelle!”
Stevie flinched. “Oh my gosh! Why are you shouting?”
“That is why the name Arendal sounded familiar to me.” Hollis watched Sveyn in the mirror. “Disney set the movie Frozen in ‘Arendelle’! In Norway!”
“And where did you hear the name Arendal?” Stevie was clearly irritated. “I don’t recall us recovering anything in the hoard from Norway.”
Oops, she’d done it again.
Crap-tastic.
“I, uh, was reading an article online that mentioned the town,” Hollis lied. “I was doing research on Viking coins to see if some of them are more rare and valuable than others.”
“Give a girl a warning next time, will ya?” Stevie groused. “Better yet, don’t shout out random words in enclosed spaces.”
“Sorry, Stevie.”
Sveyn was laughing hysterically, head thrown back and slapping his thighs.
*****
“Stevie, will you pick up where we left off yesterday?” Hollis pulled her plastic goggles over her eyes. “I want to assess what’s left to do, since the wing’s opening is sooner than we expected.”
“Sure. Come on, guys.” Stevie linked arms with one of the interns. “Maybe today we’ll find something more in line w
ith your interests.”
One of them grunted.
“Okay. Show me,” Hollis whispered.
She followed Sveyn into the thankfully air-conditioned house and down the hallway. They entered the bigger room next to the one Stevie and the interns were working in.
Sveyn pointed. “It’s in the third box down, about four feet from the wall.”
Hollis stared at him in disbelief, but kept her voice low so the group in the next room wouldn’t hear her. “Can you see through the boxes?”
Sveyn shook his head. “No. But I can move through them.”
Hollis sat down hard on a crate. “So…”
“So when I move through objects, I can see everything inside them. Like the couch at the hotel, remember?”
Hollis nodded. She felt a little faint.
“I could see the metal bars, the stuffing in the mattress, the blanket. That sort of thing.”
She looked up at him. “And yesterday…”
“Yesterday, when you were busy, I went exploring.” He looked quite pleased with himself.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” Hollis dropped her head into her hands, continuing without looking at the Viking. “So you can tell me what is in each one of these boxes?”
“Yes and no.”
Her head snapped up. “What does that mean?”
Sveyn looked a little embarrassed. “I can see the objects, but I don’t recognize all of them. Or what they are used for.”
“Hollis, are you alright?” A frowning Stevie wound her way into the room. “I thought I heard you say you were going to throw up.”
Hollis turned to look at her assistant, mentally kicking herself. “I did. But I was exaggerating. Look at all of this. How will we get it all done?”
Stevie straightened to her full five-foot-two-inches. “We just will. Now get off your butt and get to work.”
Hollis stood and saluted the petite blonde. “Sir, yes, sir!”
Once Stevie was out of the room, Hollis began the task of shifting boxes out of the way, following Sveyn’s direction. She did open each one to see what was inside, pleased to note that the deeper they went into the hoard, the more written documentation accompanied each item.