Milo...Blades

      By Pattie Lawler

 

            Milo knew better than to approach with an iron blade.

            In one pocket was Six Hammers, an Aztec, obsidian blade and one of his earliest acquisitions. Over his habitual white leather were fine chainmail gloves. Six Hammers lacked a handle and was razor sharp, as half a dozen well placed scars could attest. But at this stage of the game, Milo wasn’t one to make mistakes.

            His insurance was in his other pocket. A secret weapon few knew existed and one he had yet to need. But then, one could never be too careful.

            Chris had his orders. One minute of light, then Milo was to be woken up. It was the third interview, Milo assured the agent, that would settle things. Simon, positioned beside the door, was also ready with his list of tasks, but he was the reservist. Milo was convinced that his bodyguard was simply window-dressing.

            Used to Milo’s unorthodox methods, but still intrigued by them, there were several members of the staff on hand, acting as voyeurs.

Milo grinned at them as Simon tightened the straps on his gloves. “Seems like the only thing missing is heroic music,” he quipped, flexing his hands.

            “One more inspirational quote, and you’re on your way,” Chris replied, resetting his stop watch.

            Milo sobered and pushed the door open.

            “Pleasant dreams,” Chris murmured as he passed by.

            “I doubt it.”

<0> 

            In the light from the hall, Milo strode across the vault and picked up the reliquary. Its weight was substantial, and as the door clicked closed behind him, he was familiar with the stiff, lead door and its simple latch. Setting it down, he sat below the statue and mentally braced himself.

 <0> 

            The pounding of feet alerted them to their impending disgrace. Elizabeth’s black eyes were wide with horror, and Milo was sure his were just as terrified, but he kept his head and told her to hide. He had to repeat the order before she could move, but as she did, her foot caught the table and their makeshift experiment jerked. Milo threw himself forward, shoving Elizabeth out of harm’s way, his free hand reaching to steady the table.

            Their father arrived just as the bowl of acid--into which they had been dipping chicken bones--sloshed over the edge. Both of Milo’s hands were blistering as Elizabeth stood screaming.

            Milo made not a sound as he dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

            Overhead, the vault lights dimmed as Elizabeth’s scream faded.

 <0> 

            “You okay, boss?”

            “Water?”

            An open bottle was pressed into his hand, and Milo managed a large swallow.

            “You gonna be alright?”

            “In a minute. Any change in the room?”

            “Nope.”

            “Damn.”

            Simon chuckled. “It’s had centuries of dealing with punks like you.”

            “Not like me,” Milo laughed in reply. “I know what I’m doing.”

            “Yeah, I can tell.”

            Milo looked into Simon’s eyes, a smirk on his face. “Do I need to change my pants?”

            Simon’s smile grew. “Not yet.”

            Nodding, Milo finished the bottle and handed it back. “Round two.”

            “Give it another minute.”

            But he shook his head. “It’s had too long getting to know me. It’s dealt with my two worst memories and can only move from here into the realm of creation. I’ve tried to keep Fanny out of my head, but there’s no guarantee.”

            Simon squeezed his shoulder in response as he quickly exited. Milo inwardly smiled and tried to make himself comfortable.

            The lights glowed overhead.

 <0> 

            Milo rose and turned to face the statue. His body swayed as lethargy weighed on his shoulders, but he put his hand to the wall and fought back.

            “Who are you?”

            It was Albany’s voice, speaking in Greek, at four o’clock. Mentally, he brushed off his seldom used Greek. “You know my name.”

            “Milo.”

            He nodded. “And you are?”

            “Why did you come back?”

            “Why did you try to frighten me away?”

            “Because I didn’t know you were the one.”

            “The one?”

            “The one to take me home.”

            Milo nodded, turning. It was indeed Albany, and she was dressed as Eboli, eyepatch and all. But she was sporting Fanny’s hair. He was going to have to work faster.

            “And where is home?”

            “Not there!” One ridged finger stabbed at the statue. Her anger was manifest as a wave of drowsiness that poured over him. His knees buckled as he threw himself against the wall and looked at the creature. It was now Fanny, in Eboli’s costume.

            Damn.

            “Okay, no one’s making you go there. I left the door on the reliquary open. If you get inside, I’ll take you wherever home is, I swear.”

            Fanny barked a laugh, nodding very fast. “So they all say. They promise me that no one will ever find me, and look!” Her arms flew wide as she spun in place. “Look where I am!”

            She turned back, fixing her lone eye on him. Milo inwardly moaned as he watched Albany’s hazel darkened to Fanny’s black. Only the height remained indeterminate.

            “They take me far away, more than a man can walk in a day, and yet I am not allowed to rest! Forever, I am on display!” Her eye rolled, and she swayed, bending over at the waist. For a moment, there was total silence. Then she jerked upright with a screech. Lunging forward, she rushed him while reaching to uncover her eye.

            Six Hammers was out and pressed to her throat. Catching her hand before she could raise the patch, he thrust her against the nearest wall.

            This isn’t Fanny. If I kill her, it’s not Fanny. Fanny is safe at home. She’s safe at home!

            She retaliated with another wave of sleep that made the bile rise in his throat as he resisted.

            “I want to help you!” he growled. His weight became a millstone, dragging at him, and he pressed his forehead against the wall, struggling to stand.

            “No, you don’t!”

            “Yes, I do!” Milo turned Six Hammers down, pressing the knife’s broadside along Fanny’s throat. “I can exorcise or relocate you, the choice is yours, but you have to make it now. In a few minutes, the lights will fade, and the people who own this statue will want a decision. This time, being buried isn’t an option.”

            Silence reigned.

            Fanny’s gaze turned inward. “You will take me home?”

            “Where is home?”

            “Epidaurus.”

            “The Temple of Asclepius?”

            Her head dipped as far as the knife allowed.

            “I swear I will take you, personally. If you get into the reliquary, right now, I will leave directly.”

            She bit her bottom lip.

            “I swear,” he repeated, easing up on the knife.

            Another moment of hesitation ended with her head falling forward. “I have no choice but to trust you.”

            “I will take you home.”

 <0> 

            When Milo opened the door of the vault before his fifteen minutes had past, a cheer went up from those gathered, and a call was placed to the director. Smiling with delight, he handed Chris the statue.

            “One Hypnos statue. Opening bid, thirty-thousand pounds, owing to its being an extremely rare marble example. My fee for exorcising its spirit, however, is the reliquary. The genus loci within and I are leaving the country. Please inform the authorities. The paperwork we discussed is ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer but looked at Simon. “Call Palmer, please. I’m going to Athens.”

<0>  

            An army of police officers met them as they exited Sotheby’s. The security tag that had been attached to the reliquary the day before was inspected for tampering. Surrendering his two passports, Milo cheerfully submitted to being handcuffed to the lead handle.

The center of a ring of officers, he was hurried into the sedan, and an escort of six cars and four motorcycles surrounded them as Simon made for the airport.

            Seated at his ease in the rear of the car, Milo listened to the confirmation of Joe’s preparations as he watched London speed by. Chris, in the front seat, was on a conference call with Joe and Lawrence. Seated beside Milo was Sir Phillip Owen, Sotheby’s director, who was also on his mobile, speaking with his counterpart in Athens.

            “Constantine can meet you at the airport,” Sir Phillip said, twisting the phone away from his mouth. “The key to the cuffs will be in the diplomatic bag with the pilots. He’d like to know what kind of an escort you’d like.”

            “As little as possible, please.”

            Sir Phillip nodded, his mouth open to say something more when his attention was recalled to his phone.

            “Word is,” Chris said, rising up to look back at Milo, “Greek nationals are demanding the return of the statue.”

            “Along with the Elgin Marbles.”

            Chris returned his grin, nodding as he waited for Joe and Lawrence to need him.

            Milo rocked forward. “Can I ask you something, as a friend?”

            “Of course.”

            Milo glanced at Sir Phillip and lowered his voice. “How long did you wait before you asked Rachel to marry you?”

            Chris’ expression was one of amused confusion. “Jesus, Milo. You just spent thirteen minutes with a renegade genus loci and you’re thinking of domestications?”

            “Priorities.”

            The grin returned to Chris’ face. “Our first date. She didn’t accept, of course, and later confessed that when I asked, her first thought was that I’d be lucky to get her number let alone another date, but I didn’t give her a minute’s peace.”

            “You badgered her into marrying you?”

            “Can you think of a better way?”

            Milo laughed as he relaxed back.

 <0> 

            The flight attendant showed them into Suite 1 and said they would be leaving immediately.

            “Seems to have outstayed its welcome,” Simon rumbled as they entered the berth.

            Milo grinned in reply. “I’d like some time alone with it, if you have no objections.”

            “Actually, I have several.”

            “And that’s why I pay you, but I still want time. Give me a minute to make sure we’re still on terms, and I’ll let you know how much I want after that.”

            Simon withdrew as Milo set the heavy tube down and knelt beside it.

            “I don’t know if you can hear us,” he said in Greek, lifting the latch, “but I wanted to see how you’re doing. I’m going to open the door, and you can let me know if you’d like to be left alone, or if you’d like company. It’s a five hour flight from here to Greece.”

            Making himself as comfortable as possible when attached to a two-foot tall tube of lead, he flicked the door open a crack.

            And Albany as Eboli stood before him.

            “Yes, I can hear you, but I don’t understand your language.”

            Milo smiled up at her. “It’s okay, Simon!”

            “Okay, boss,” was the faint reply. “I’ll be in 2 if you need anything.”

            The spirit gestured to herself. “Who am I?”

            “You are the image of the woman that I am...” his mind raced for an explanation the spirit would understand. “That I’m considering for my wife.”

            “And this?” Albany became Fanny.

            “My sister’s daughter. Please return to the previous woman.”

            Albany crouched before him. “You resisted showing me your sister’s daughter. Why?”

            His voice was firm. “She is very young, and I am her protector...in all things.”

            Albany nodded. “I will not taunt you.” She rose, looking around. “What place is this?”

            “This is rather difficult to explain.” He outlined, as best he could, what was happening and what he expected to happen. “The reason I wanted to speak to you is because I have encountered spirits like yourself before, but seldom so far from home. Do you know how you came to be attached to the statue? I’m concerned that I may have a problem restoring you to your home.”

            “You are wondering if I was tricked by another? That I did not go willingly into the statue.”

            “In my experience, it is not uncommon for temples to be built atop temples; one spirit of place being deposed by another. Mankind isn’t known for thinking things through.”

            She nodded thoughtfully.

            “My question to you is; what do you want me to do if the other spirit is still in residence? Can you, will you, accept being placed near your original shrine?”

            “I have been so long removed,” she began, her voice soft.

            Her gaze lowered as she thought aloud, and Milo heard none of it.

            He was watching her lips.

            Albany’s singing filled his mind and aching claimed his body. Image after image of Albany, her face suffused with rapture of his creation, passed before his wondering gaze. He could feel her weight in his lap; the silk of her skin as his bare hands smoothed over the curves of her figure; her searing heat as his mouth explored her neck, trailing lower...

            He hadn’t realized he had moved before the spirit gasped, starting back from his hand in her hair.

            Milo jerked awake.

 

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