The Accidental Viking (The Accidentals #17)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

“You’ve reached OOPS, Out in the Open Paranormal Support.

This is Nina Statleon speaking. What’s your problem, and how much cash will it take for you to hang the fuck up and leave me the fuck alone?

Because I got a lot of it. Cash, that is, and all I’m looking for is a little peace, you know?

It’s been one thing after another these days.

I need a fucking break,” a husky, very bored voice groused.

“Thor!” Dominique Acosta screamed into the phone, unable to prevent the word from escaping her lips. The word, or rather, the name that wouldn’t stop randomly escaping her throat.

When she screamed it, it filled her with an unexplainable rage for absolutely no reason.

Hollering it while shopping for allergy meds in the local CVS, her fist raised to the sky, and almost getting herself arrested for disturbing the peace?

Not on her bingo card.

“No, dummy. Not Thor. Are you deaf? It’s Nina. Niii, long I, naaa, long A. Say it with me,” the irritated voice on the other end of the line insisted. “Neenaaa.”

Rubbing her forehead and pinching her temples, Dom winced. “I heard you. I mean…I can’t…never mind. Nina, ma’am, please listen. I think I need your help.”

“So you sayin’ cash is off the table? ’Cause I can Venmo you in two seconds flat and we can be done with this shit.”

Dom swallowed, the effort like trying to relieve a large lump that refused to slide down her throat.

“As nice as cash sounds, and being of a curious nature, I admit, I wonder at the amount you’re offering, I don’t think money will help me.

So let me start again, I’m Dominique Acosta, and I need real help.

Your website says you offer help to people who’ve had a paranormal accident.

Seeing as I can’t figure out what in the name of Patricia is going on with me, I have to side with it being something paranormal, and that’s where you come in. ”

There was a raspy sigh, beleaguered and long, before Niiinaaa said, “Fine. Let’s go down the checklist.”

“Checklist?” Dom squeaked.

“Yeah. A yes or no will do.”

Blowing out a cleansing breath of air, she nodded, pacing her small entryway as her crow, Fletcher, hopped alongside her, pecking the floor as she went. “Okay. Got it.”

“Pronouns?”

Dom frowned. “I thought you said these were yes or no questions?”

There was an aggravated sigh. “Look. I’m just trying to get right with society as we know it, okay?

My fellow OOPS colleagues fucking say it’s polite to ask so I can address you the correct way and not offend, because Christ knows I don’t want to offend anyone.

You don’t hafta tell me. I don’t give a shit if you identify as a bloomin’ onion.

I’m only askin’ in case you have a preference.

” She paused and then there was a tapping, perhaps of a pen hitting a desk, before she asked, “So, pronouns?”

“Um, she/her.”

There was a click of what sounded like keyboard keys and then, “First up—fangs.”

She blinked. Fangs? “Fangs?”

“Yeah, do you have ’em? Yes or no.”

Dom looked at her reflection in the mirror in her small entryway, peeling back her upper lip. “Um, no?”

“Hair. Lots of it, growing in places a chick uses vats of wax to get rid of—like your face and your no-no spots? Now, before you freak, hear me out. You’re a chick.

I’m a chick. And the other chicks in my life say it’s okay to talk about personal shit like this with other women because we’re in the Year of our Lord 2025, and everybody talks about everything whether you want them to or not. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Dom blinked as she stared at her face. “No. No hair on my face.” Then she pulled the waistband of her capris pants away from her torso and peeked with only one eye open, holding her breath. Phew.

“Nope. No excessive hair on my…um, down there, either.”

“Drool. You droolin’ much?”

She shook her head, pressing her cell phone to her ear. “Nay on the drool.”

“’Kay, how about fins, scales, claws or a unicorn horn?”

Okay, joke was on her. I mean, come on—a unicorn horn? How could she be so stupid?

“This is a prank website, isn’t it? Am I going to be on some TikTok vid? A reel on Facebook, while everyone laughs at me and gives me that googly-eyed, tongue-hanging-out emoji, and I end up canceled for being a complete moron?”

“Hah!” she barked into the phone. “You’re gonna wish this was a damn joke. Answer the questions or hang the fuck up. It’s no skin off my ass, one way or the other.”

What choice did she have, considering what was sitting on her kitchen table?

Taking a deep breath, Dom answered. “No fins, scales, claws or,” she stopped to cough, “unicorn horns.”

“Check, check, check aaand check. Just a couple more. Uh, wings?”

“Wings?” she bellowed. “Wings?” Was this woman insane?

“Lady, shut the fuck up!” Nina hollered. “If you scream like that again, I’m gonna hang this phone up, sniff your ass out and yank your tongue outta your face, then I’m gonna wrap it around your neck. Got me?”

Dom cringed. Then a lighter, sweeter voice could be heard.

“Nina, give me the phone. Give it to me now, please. Why do you always choose violence at a time like this? Whoever’s on the other end of the phone needs help.”

Oh, boy, did she ever need help. But was this the kind of help she needed?

And then Dom heard, “Give me that phone, Nina, or I’m going to go full werewolf on you!”

Werewolf? What in all of Stephen King was she hearing?

There was a scuffle and some muffled protests and then, “Hello, this is Marty Flaherty, OOPS consultant. Please accept my apologies for my rude coworker. Now, how can I help you today…um, Miss…?”

If nothing else, she sounded nicer. “Acosta. And I…I don’t know. I mean…I don’t know. I don’t think I fit the qualifications for your checklist.”

“Bah,” the sweet voice said. “We’re still in the process of adding to that checklist. Things change every day as society evolves. So how about you tell me what’s actually happening?”

As hysteria rose in her chest, Dom became incredibly hesitant, preparing to turn her cell phone off so she wouldn’t be the laughingstock of social media.

“Hello? Please don’t let Nina scare you off. We’re legit. I promise,” the sweet voice said, reading her mind. “I promise, you won’t end up on TikTok. Now, how about we start with your full name so I can address you properly?”

She licked her dry lips, stooping to gather Fletcher and set him on her island countertop, next to the small wicker basket where she put all of the “gifts” he brought her.

“My name is Dominique Acosta, but everyone calls me Dom.” Had she said that already? A sure sign she was on the verge of a panic attack was repetitiveness.

“Right. Got it. And how old are you, Dom?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Married? Single? In a relationship? I only ask because whatever is happening to you will surely affect the people in your life.”

Single. She was very single, with zero prospects since she’d broken up with Amon a year ago. “I’m single.”

“What do you do for a living, Dom?”

Nowadays? Never mind. That didn’t matter anymore. “I’m between jobs right now, but I used to manage a cosmetics counter at a major department store.”

There was a tiny gasp, and then the woman said, “Oooo! You like makeup? Wait until you hear what I do for a living!”

She loved makeup, ultra-feminine clothes, shoes, bags, the works. “What do you do for a living?” Dom asked, now less frightened and more curious, as crazy as that sounded.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Marty! Get on with this shit already. It’s late and I’m gonna miss my feeding if you don’t find out what the hell this broad wants!” Dom heard Nina complain in the background. “Save the fucking lip gloss love-fest for another day. Get the hell on with it.”

Muffled slaps resonated in her ears. “Nina! If you touch this phone once more, I’m going to box your ears.

Now back the hell off!” Marty bellowed with a roar.

Then she cleared her throat in a ladylike manner.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Dom. We were talking about what I do for a living, which is neither here nor there right now.

But I promise, we’ll get into it once we establish what your needs are. ”

“Thor!” she unwillingly hollered into the phone, biting her lip in horror as her left fist rose to meet the sky.

“Thor? Is there a Thor there with you? Is Thor hurting you, Dom?” came the worried reply.

“No!” Dom shouted, then immediately softened her voice, nervously twisting a strand of hair around her index finger.

“No. There’s no one here. I’m fine, but randomly shouting out that name is part of the problem I’m having.

I don’t know why I keep yelling it. I don’t even know anyone named Thor, but I can’t control it. It just happens—and it happens a lot.”

“There,” the gentle voice said, almost a soft whisper in her ear.

“That was easy enough, right? Now that we have the particulars out of the way, as I said, I’m Marty Flaherty.

My loud, crude partner here at OOPS who answered your call—and is all bark, almost no bite—is Nina Statleon, and our other partner is Wanda Jefferson.

We’re here to help you, Dom. I promise. But we can’t help unless you tell us all of what’s wrong…

and I can sense there’s something else. Are you ready to tell me the rest of what’s happening? ”

Dom glanced at the shiny instrument on her kitchen table. Telling this woman what had happened after she’d gone to that stupid swap meet three days ago was going to make her sound as if an insane asylum and straitjacket were too tame to contain her.

“Dom?” Marty coaxed.

Then a thought occurred to her—it was brief and fleeting, typically not the way her busy mind worked, flitting from one subject to the next without rhyme or reason. “Did you say you’re Marty Flaherty? As in the Marty Flaherty, who owns Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics?”

Marty giggled, soft and tinkling. “That’s me.”