Page 36 of Viking Vengeance Cruise

“Two days ago you predicted she’d be engaged to a park bench by Helsinki,” I remind her.

“I stand corrected,” Bess says, and there’s no missing the pride in it. “We’re a full port ahead of schedule.”

The woman in the “My Other Boyfriend Is a Viking” T-shirt cups her hands and hollers up. “Does he have a brother?”

“He has a whole longship of them!” Nettie shouts back. “Form a line!”

Magnus appears beside me, visible only to me, and he’s laughing so hard he’s doubled over. “Oh, I adore her. She’s magnificent. This is exactly the spirit Valhalla was built on. Boldness, absurdity, absolute commitment to chaos. In my hall, she’d have a horn full of mead, a seat of honor, and a standing invitation to my lap.”

Why am I not surprised? And when Nettie finds out, she’ll be delighted. She’ll ask if the lap comes with a view.

“Someone needs to get her down,” Marina says, but she’s trying not to laugh.

“Someone needs to get her a medal,” I counter. “And maybe a fireman.”

“I heard that!” Nettie hollers down. “Send the whole station! Tell them to bring the tall ladder and the tight shirts, and there’s no rush!”

“Behave up there,” I call back, and yes, I hear it. Ransom would be so proud. Or horrified. With that man it’s a coin toss.

“Never! Harald likes me wild! He’s strong, he’s silent, and in nine hundred years he’s never once looked at another woman!”

“Those are excellent qualities,” I concede.

“The best qualities! Take notes, Trixie!”

I’m married to a man who runs background checks for fun. My notes are extensive.

A café employee appears, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. “Madam, please come down from the statue.”

“But we’re in love!” Nettie protests.

“You can love him from the ground!”

“That’s what my third husband said,” Nettie fires back, “and look how that turned out!”

“How did it turn out?” the employee asks, and I could tell him that’s his first mistake, but some lessons a man has to learn on his own.

“Nobody knows!” Bess supplies cheerfully. “Not even the lawyers!”

Magnus swipes at an eye that has no business producing tears. “I’m keeping her. When she’s ready to cross the veil, many decades from now, I’m escorting her to Valhalla personally. Front of the line, mead in each hand. And if she asks for a tour of my longboat, who am I to deny a warrior queen?”

Heaven help Valhalla. And the longboat.

In the end, it’s Bess who talks her down, calm and unhurried, one instruction at a time, the way air traffic control lands a plane. Left foot to the shield. Hand on the belt. Cinnamon buns waiting on the tarmac. Nettie descends with more grace than a woman in kitten heels has any right to, and when her feet hit the ground, Bess catches her elbow and steadies her.

“You stuck the landing,” Bess tells her.

“Harald’s loss,” Nettie sniffs.

“He’ll write,” Bess assures her, and the crowd disperses with good-natured laughter and approximately fifty new photos of the incident. Somewhere out there, Nettie is about to go viral, and she’ll be thrilled about it. She’ll demand royalties. Knowing her, she’ll get them.

Magnus fades away with one final comment. “Your friend is a treasure. Protect her. And find who killed Astrid before they strike again. One murder is a mystery. Two is a bad habit, and I refuse to spend eternity haunting a woman with bad habits. Unless the habit is me.”

And with that cheerful thought, he’s gone.

Making things worse before he makes them better, just as I predicted. Although today he hovered somewhere near the middle, so I’m calling it progress and rewarding it with a cinnamon bun.

Fine. I’m rewarding me. The progress can watch.