by Kris Tualla
She stepped under the hot stream and let the water run over her shoulders and back, allowing her relaxation to be completed by its gentle ministrations. She washed with the lavender soap as well, moving her hands gingerly over her bruised chest and cracked breastbone.
If Sveyn was disturbed by the stark discoloration, he didn’t say anything. And it was going to get much uglier before it faded away.
Six weeks was her expected recovery time. Hollis figured that was optimistic.
As she stood under the flowing water, she finally allowed herself to contemplate Sveyn’s shocking marriage proposal. His reason for asking her before he accepted her offer to live here touched her deeply.
He was right. Matt never followed through, even when she gave him this disappointing second chance.
In glaring contrast with her ex-boyfriend, Sveyn was a man of deep-seated integrity. He fell in love with her when they had no future, and now that a future was possible he didn’t hesitate to set things right between them.
Hollis said she would marry him without thinking about it because she was so taken by surprise. Now, with a quiet moment to consider the question, she realized that she was glad the ceremony was going to be delayed by Sveyn’s lack of a modern identity.
Hollis would need time to ease the Viking into her life and into her world, at least as far as everyone but Stevie and George was concerned. And while the ruse of Sveyn coming out of the gypsy culture answered a lot of questions, it certainly raised several others.
No one she knew would be happy if she traipsed down to the courthouse on Sveyn’s arm and pledged until death do them part right after meeting him. And there was no acceptable way to explain the truth.
Hollis reached for her towel, her mind spinning through other obstacles to their marriage. Would Sveyn adjust to modern life? Would his personality change now that he could interact with everyone around him?
What if he’s attracted to another woman?
Women will certainly be attracted to him. Hollis had no doubts about that. The man was spectacular. And her gut told her that the rough warrior edge he had was not going to be tamed by her soft world.
Sveyn would always exude a sense of unpredictability. Maybe even danger. That’s who he was.
A real Viking.
Hollis dried off and donned a t-shirt to sleep in. She shut off the bathroom light and climbed into bed by the light of the full moon seeping around her curtains.
The rented condo came furnished with a king-sized bed and until tonight she thought that was a waste. Not now. Sveyn completely filled his half.
The man was sound asleep, and snoring. Hollis smiled in the dark.
I guess that comes with the breathing part.
She slid closer, until her hip touched his forearm.
The snoring stopped momentarily while Sveyn lifted his very warm and heavy palm onto her thigh, then it resumed its languid rhythm.
Hollis sighed as deeply as her injury would allow.
My Viking.
Chapter Nine
Wednesday
January 13
Sveyn was in the bathroom using one of Hollis’s razors and her shaving cream to remove his beard. She told him that facial hair was very popular these days, but he insisted.
“I have always wished that I shaved before I was transformed,” he said. “And now that I am able to clean my face, I shall do so.”
She wasn’t worried he would cut himself after he laughed at the tiny blades safely encased in their disposable pink plastic handle.
He looked down at her, amused. “As an historian, you must realize that I always shaved with a knife. A very sharp one.”
Hollis put up her hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll go check my email.”
Her work inbox was out of control. The exponentially increased requests from ghost hunter types were obviously a result of the Ghost Myths, Inc. episode that aired a week ago. Hollis moved all of them to a folder to be dealt with later. Once she informed them that the museum charged two hundred dollars an hour with a four-hour minimum, most of them would disappear anyway.
Hollis clicked a new tab and opened her personal email. The newscast on Sunday evening had alerted the world that she was nearly fatally injured, and everyone she knew in Arizona had sent their good wishes.
Even Tony Samoa, the museum’s permanent collections manager, who spent the last nine months deriding her, the new collection, and the wing that was built to house it.
“Good thing we buried the hatchet at Christmas,” she said to herself as she typed a quick thank you in reply. “Hope you still feel that way when you find out I’m permanent.”
Oops.
The contract.
Hollis switched back to her work email and opened Friday’s close-of-the-day email from Mr. Benton with her new contract attached. Even though the boss man knew everything that was going on, she thought it would be wise to reply that she actually was accepting the position. She copied Miranda, her curator, and blind-copied Stevie, her registrar, just because.
Send.
Sveyn walked out of the bedroom, clean shaven. And naked.
Hollis sucked an appreciative breath deep enough to hurt.
“How do I look?” he asked. His expression said the question was serious.
“You look amazing…”
“It looks odd to me after all this time.” His brow twitched. “Do you like my face this way?”
Hollis chuckled and her pulse sped up a little. “I like all of you this way.”
Sveyn looked down at his bare frame. “I should put the clothes on.”
Darn. “That’s probably a good idea.”
He looked at her again. “I need more.”
“Clothes? Yes, you do.” Hollis bit her lower lip.
“Will you send George again?”
Hollis shook her head. “He doesn’t have time. Plus, you should be able to choose your own.” She pointed at her laptop. “I’ll take your measurements and we’ll order you some clothes online.”
A slow smile spread across Sveyn’s face. “And they will come here, will they not?”
“Yep.” Hollis walked to the junk drawer in the kitchen to get her tape measure. Never mind that it was a metal one.
An inch is an inch.
Sveyn was patient with her while she wrapped the cold metal band around various parts of his battered body and wrote down the results. His hair was soft from the conditioner and he smelled so clean, like the shaving cream.
Good stuff, that.
When she finished, he went into the bedroom to don the sweatpants and t-shirt while she searched the internet for tall men’s clothes.
The ring of her phone startled her after being silenced while she was in the hospital. “Hi, Miranda.”
“Hi, Hollis. I didn’t want to disturb you while you’re recovering, but I saw your email so I knew you were thinking about work.”
“Oh, no.” Hollis slumped in her chair. “What happened?”
“Nothing bad,” Miranda assured her. “But interesting.”
“Okay…”
“When the Ghost Myths, Inc. guys filmed you in the collections storeroom, with the hoard in the background, there was a painting behind you of a young girl.”
“In the pink dress?”
“Yes. Well…” Miranda inserted a totally unneeded dramatic pause. “A man named Gerhardt Kunst saw the news story on Sunday night, and he called the museum afterwards and left a message.”
Hollis waited. “And?” she prompted when Miranda didn’t continue.
“And—he said that painting was his, and he wants it back.”
“Was there a bill of sale with the painting?”
Miranda paused. “I don’t know.”
“All right.” Hollis dragged her hand through her curls and took as deep a breath as she could. “Have Tom take pictures of the painting front and back and send them to me. Then have him look around and see if there’s any kind of receipt or
notation from Ezra about it.”
Hollis heard Miranda’s keyboard clacking. “I’m on it.”
“As soon as I get the pictures I’ll do some research.”
“Great.” More clacking.
“Have you called him back?” Hollis asked.
“I did.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“First I told him that painting was under your jurisdiction.” The clacking stopped. “Then I reminded him that you had that accident, and then I told him you would call him when you came back to work.”
Hollis hadn’t thought past today. “Did you say when that was going to be?”
“Not this week.”
Hollis nodded even though Miranda couldn’t see her. “Okay. That’s good. Is there anything else?”
“Nope. Just I’m thrilled beyond words that you’re staying.”
Hollis smiled. “I am, too.”
*****
Sveyn sat with Hollis as she selected clothes for him from a couple of different sites. “You are spending a lot of money.”
Hollis finished typing in her credit card security number. “Thanks to you saving my life, I have a lot of money to spend.”
She turned her head and looked at him; he felt like he could drown in the blue sea of her eyes. “And if you walk around naked, no one in Phoenix will be safe. Consider it my civic duty.”
Sveyn shifted in his seat to ease the piercing ache going straight through his side.
Hollis noticed. “Oh for heaven’s sake, take some ibuprofen already.”
She got up and grabbed the little white bottle on the kitchen counter and set it in front of him, next to his water bottle. “I promise it won’t make you dizzy. Cross my heart.”
Sveyn weighed the possibility against his discomfort. “I will try it once.”
“Good. But when you feel better, remember that you won’t be healed for at least six weeks,” she warned.
He gave her a patient look. “I have been injured before.” Another thought popped up. “And the blood doctor says my blood has cells like a baby. Regency.”
Hollis appeared stumped. “Regency? What does that mean?”
Sveyn opened the bottle. “How many?”
“Four is prescription strength.”
Sveyn took three.
Hollis rolled her eyes. “Tell me about this baby ‘regency’ blood.”
“Babies have regency cells because they grow so fast.”
Hollis’s confused expression stilled, held, and then washed away. “Regenerative?”
Sveyn felt his cheeks grow warm and realized at that moment that he had no beard to hide behind.
Maybe I will grow it back.
He frowned a little, acting nonchalant. “Yes. That might be the word.”
“Because your body is new?” Hollis huffed a laugh. “Well, sort of new.”
“I think so.”
She capped the ibuprofen and put it back on the counter. “That would be great. Because I go back to work on Tuesday, and you’ll be recovering here alone.”
Sveyn shook his head. “No, I will go to work with you.”
Hollis looked at him like he was crazy. “And do what? You can’t hang out in my office anymore. People can see you now, remember?”
No. He forgot.
He had experienced so many years and so many people, and all the while he could do or say whatever he wanted because he existed outside of their world.
Not any longer.
“You are right. I did forget,” he admitted.
Hollis sat beside him again. “Once you’re well enough I can take you to the museum with me, and you can do training until you get your identification stuff and get on the payroll.”
Sveyn lifted one brow. “What will I do there?”
“Maintenance maybe, but I’d rather have them make you a guard.” Her lips quirked and made him long to kiss them. “Your size works in your favor there.”
That made sense. “Will I work the same time that you do?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’d have to work on that. Maybe.”
Sveyn felt his belly rumble and he looked at the clock on the microwave. “Will we eat soon?”
*****
Sveyn needed to lie down. He hated that he felt so weak, but there was nothing he could do about it. His body was abused before it transformed, and everything he experienced then impacted his body now that it was recovered.
“Go rest, Sveyn,” Hollis urged. “You need to after all you’ve been through.”
He peered at her, trying to discern her recuperation. “Do you hurt?”
Hollis rested her hand over her heart. “My chest does, obviously. It’ll take weeks to heal.”
“And are you using the air thing?”
She looked guilty. “I’ll do that now.”
“The doctor says you must, or you might become ill,” he chastised.
“I will.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I promise.”
Sveyn walked down the short hallway to the bedroom, refusing to put his hands on the wall for support. His balance was not quite steady, but he knew he only needed to work at it and all would come to rights.
Well, not all.
Not one single element of his existence was the same as it was four days ago. When Hollis’s spirit appeared beside him, Sveyn did not think about what he said to her, he just acted on instinct. When he told her not to die, but to go back and take him with her, he did not know if such a thing was even possible.
And the next thing he was aware of was lying on the ground, bleeding, and with every fiber of his body in agony.
I believe I was even more surprised than she.
Now he was here. In this century. Living with Hollis for the rest of his unexpectedly restored and natural life.
Sveyn lay down on the bed and curled on his left side. He hated to admit it, but he was miserable.
Gradually his nerves were calming down. The ibuprofen worked and thankfully he was not dizzy, but he still felt random and painful twinges in his healing core. And if rubbed too much his skin still felt like it was burning. But his lungs no longer stung with every breath, and he was mostly unaware of the beat of his heart.
How odd it was to know that he would never again close his eyes and open them to a new setting and a new time. He would never again manifest to an unsuspecting and startled person, to whom Sveyn would be tethered for as long as he was there.
This century was his last to experience. This city was his home. And Hollis was to be his wife.
Sveyn proposed before he moved in, because that was the right thing to do. And because she was the love of his life, of course.
I will be her husband.
And there was the problem.
Husbands were supposed to protect and care for their families, providing food, shelter, and clothing. That was how Sveyn was born and raised, and it was right.
And yet Sveyn’s ability to hunt and fish, clean the carcasses, and cook them over a fire was obviously unsuited for this era and this city. Food here came either packaged in huge stores, or cooked so it was hot and ready to eat.
That is a good thing as I have not seen a single deer or a suitably flowing river anywhere.
As for shelter, homes were now built by construction companies and sold to the people who wanted to live in them. And clothing was premade and purchased from stores—or ordered on the internet.
All that was required was money.
How will I earn enough money to care for Hollis?
And what about children?
Sveyn knew Hollis won her civil lawsuit against Everett Sage and received seven hundred thousand dollars, but Sveyn did not know what that amount of money would buy or how long it would last.
He also knew Hollis loved her job, but when the babies came he wanted her to be able to stay home to care for them. That was still how families operated in his last manifestation.
I will need to get a good job.
One that paid more tha
n guard duty at the museum, of that he was certain.
In spite of Hollis and Stevie’s fabrication of himself as a captain of a modern boat, there was nothing in the desert that remotely resembled the ships Sveyn helped build. It appeared that his life’s training was useless to him now.
Sveyn rolled onto his back with an irritated sigh and covered his eyes with the pillow.
Father in Heaven, what shall I do?
Chapter Ten
Hollis was resting on the couch and mindlessly watching home improvement shows while she listened to Sveyn snore in the bedroom, when her phone pinged the arrival of email. She swiped the phone to life and saw that the email was from Tom.
And it had attachments.
Hollis got off the sofa and retrieved her laptop from the dining table. Resettling back where she was, she opened the computer and logged into her work email.
Here are the photos you asked for. Let me know if I can do anything to help.
Tom
Hollis downloaded the photos of the painting in question and opened the first one. It was a portrait of a beautiful girl, probably in her mid-teens, who sat perched on a stool. One bare foot was on the ground and the other rested on a rung of the stool, barely visible beneath the hem of her mid-calf skirt.
The girl had auburn hair, which hung past her shoulders in richly colored waves. Her olive-colored eyes had a glint of mischief, and Hollis had the feeling that if she met this girl she would like her.
The girl was wearing a plain pink dress with a belted waist and a white lace collar. Simple, fitted elegance. The stool was in a formal living area of the house, based on the fireplace and sculpted mantel behind her, and the Persian rug on the floor.
Hollis zoomed in to look at the signature: Benjamin Meyer ’38.
“Nineteen thirty-eight, judging by the clothes. That’s a good start.” Hollis clicked on the next photo—a close-up of the signature. “Good thinking, Tom.”
I told Benton he was right for this job.
Photos number three and four were of the back of the painting, one of the entire back, and the other a close-up of a message. Scrawled in what looked like charcoal were the words For Wilhelm, B Meyer.