Truly, Madly Viking by Sandra Hill

Author:Sandra Hill [Hill, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2000-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

For apples.

"Did you see that?" He sat up straight, undid his seat belt, rolled down the window, and leaned his head outside.

"What? What?" Mag-he asked, swerving her car over to the side of the roadway, then turning off the motor.

"Out there." Jorund pointed over the water. "I thought I saw a killer whale jumping into the air. Do you think... Yea, it must have been Thora."

The Strand area was located on the opposite side of the island from the Gulf near a thriving commercial port. Surely a whale would not swim into those congested waters. But then, this was not a normal whale.

Much as he and Mag-he peered over the water, there was no sign of Thora. Perhaps he had been mistaken, but he did not think so. There had to be a reason for her showing herself now. What could it be? Was it a sign, or a warning?

"You're not going back to your time now, are you, Joe?" Mag-he asked him in a tear-filled, panicky voice.

He brought his head back inside the car and stared at her, horrified. That thought had never occurred to him. It was too soon. Oh, he had been complaining for weeks about not being able to go home. But now that the possibility loomed on the horizon, he realized that he did not want to go... not yet. Conflicting feelings battered him. He had to go, for his brother Rolf's sake. He had to stay, for Mag-he's and her daughters' sakes.

He could not think about all this now. Instead he made a tsking sound and put his arms around her, kissing her face and neck and lips. "I am not going anywhere, sweetling," he assured her.

But a whaley-like voice inside his head clicked and squealed in orca language, adding to his words an ominous, Yet .

"Hey, Dr. McBride. How's your belly button?"

Maggie's head jerked upright with surprise, but then she noticed the young man with purple spiked hair.

He was standing in the doorway of the tattoo parlor where she'd had her body piercing done earlier this year.

"Just great, Orvis," she answered. Orvis was the son of the owner, Herbert Dupree, a longhaired, graying, sixties hippie who had never really grown up.

Before she could turn and introduce Joe, he set their overflowing shopping bags on the ground and stomped forward, grabbed Orvis by the front of his raggedy T-shirt, which read, A Hangover Is the Wrath of Grapes, and lifted him off his feet so that the young man was at eye level with him.

"Troll, do you dare speak of my lady's intimate body parts?"

The kid appeared as if he might pee his pants, so surprised and terrified was he. Even worse, they were garnering attention from the shoppers and tourists in the busy Strand district.

"Put him down. Right now," she ordered Joe as she tugged on his arm to pull him back. "He's just a college student who works in this shop, where I had my belly-button ring put in." In fact, as Maggie recalled, he was a prelaw student at UCLA.

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