Milo ...Elliot
By Pattie Lawler
Milo looked over Elliot’s shoulder and down at the page the artist labored on.
“That’s pretty good.”
Elliot rocked back, slapped his hand down on the page, crumpled it into a ball, and
pitched it toward the trashcan across the room.
MaryAnne looked up in time to track the missile as it plopped into the wire can.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Because he said it was pretty good. If it can’t fool him, why
continue?”
Milo chuckled, catching MaryAnne’s eyes. “You don’t suffer from that
infamous artists’ temperament, do you?”
She returned to her task. “Of course I do. I just do it behind closed
doors.”
Elliot began to work on a fresh page. “What’s the point of being a diva
if no one knows about it?”
“Divas annoy people,” MaryAnne murmured, setting down a brush. “I
was a starving artist long enough to know you can smash pottery ‘til the cows come
home after hours. During business hours, I work
to support my insanity.” She settled a frosty glare on Elliot. “And if you know
what’s good for you, young man, you’ll follow my example.”
“Which is exactly why I’m giving him to you, MaryAnne! If anyone can
teach him the value of a position with me, it’s you.” Milo nodded toward her but
spoke to Elliot. “MaryAnne and I go way back, and within her realm, there is nothing
I wouldn’t do for her. No supply I won’t provide, no whim that she can concoct
that I won’t leap to fulfill because talent like hers is rare and needs to be
rewarded.”
“You mean exploited,” Elliot grumbled.
“Milo is my patron and keeps me in a manner I never could have aspired
to.”
“You sell yourself short,” Milo interjected with a bow. “You’re
good, MaryAnne, really good, and I got lucky to
get you first.”
“So, you make copies for him?” Elliot said.
“Facsimiles. Milo provides the vellum, the minerals, gold leaf, gems when
needed…everything.”
“And all you have to do is drop whatever you’re doing.” Elliot
leaned back, crossed his arms and shook his head in obvious disgust.
“Yes. That is the only price he demands. My time is his when he needs me, and
in exchange, he pays for everything.”
“So you’re a prostitute?”
MaryAnne bestowed a fond smile on Milo. “There’s no prostitute in the
city that earns what I do.”
“And on that happy note...” Milo made for the elevator. “You have
one week, Mr. Diarmait, to make up your mind. If MaryAnne can’t convince you that
Aladdin’s Cave is gaping before you, then I will place you on a plane back to
England, and your fate will be of your creation.”
“This is blackmail!”
“No.” Milo stepped into the elevator and turned back to face them.
“It’s a job offer unlike any you’ve ever received. Think before you
act.”
<0>
Simon was waiting for him when the elevator doors opened. Together they strode to
the car.
“Will he accept?”
Milo nodded. “Who could possibly resist MaryAnne? That woman could sell snow
to the Eskimos. I left her his assignment. I think he’s just the person to recreate
Cameron’s Tear Spell for the webpage.”
“You know I don’t approve.”
“I think you say that just so I’m aware of the internal struggles I put
you through. Admit it.”
“You’re a handful, there’s no denying.”
“Like the Terrible Twos, I’m in the Threatening Thirties.”
“And everyday I feel another gray hair.”
“To shave off.”
Simon opened the car door for him. “I don’t hear anyone else
complaining.”
Milo’s phone rang, interrupting them. “Hi, Fanny! What’s up?”
“Can you stop home before going to the theater?”
“For you, anything.”
<0>
When the elevator doors opened, Fanny called to Milo from the library. He found her
seated at a worktable that was new to the room. A pair of chrome, swing-arm lamps were
trained on the white tabletop. A large, self-healing cutting board lay across from where
Fanny sat, and there was a stainless steel tray of implements down the table’s side.
“Is this Albany’s?” he asked, moving to join her.
Fanny smiled up at him. “She had housekeeping put it here before she left for
the theater.”
Milo nodded, looking at the tray. It contained several pairs of scissors, of
varying sizes, at least a dozen different forms of razors, and an array of dental tools.
“You never asked Albany why she was in that antique shop the day you met, did
you?”
Bemused, Milo shook his head. “Truth be told, I had too much on my mind.”
He caught her eye and grinned. “Though I faintly recall wanting to make a lasting
impression.”
Fanny practically sparkled as she lifted a large, antique portfolio from where it
rested against the table leg and placed it on the table. “It seems we’ve missed
something very important, Uncle Milo.” She opened the cover.
Milo gasped.
The once white page was ivory with age and tell-tale patches of crusted, brown glue
told of missing pieces, but the page was crammed with a riotous display of die-cut,
Victorian scrap. Beautiful women in bustled, stripped dresses, coyly gazing over ostrich
feather fans, lap dogs with massive ribbons around their necks, children posing and angels
peeking out from billowing clouds were arranged around a central calling card. Fanny
turned page after page until she arrived at one that was only half decorated. A scattering
of lose pieces of scrap lay on the opposite page. Milo picked one up.
The tabs that had held the bowl of fruit in place on its original page were gone.
Some of the internal details had already been cut out while other areas were uniformly
salmon pink, awaiting the artist’s attention.
Albany had carefully trimmed the die-cut
edge of a strawberry leaf with a precision Milo had to admire. He turned the piece over
and noted the discoloration of the paper.
“They’re all antiques,” Fanny
said, observing his examination. “Albany said that she used to buy reproductions,
back when she was poor, but when she could afford genuine antiques, she switched. She said
the paper feels different, and she likes the older ones better.”
Milo’s gaze returned to the book.
“She bought the scrapbook for herself
this past Christmas and has been adding to it. She says she likes cutting them out because
it makes her focus and it’s a very quiet hobby.” Fanny laughed and picked up a
finished dove whose splayed feathers were free of support. “I guess being around
music all day can be a bit much. I never really thought about it.”
Milo set the piece down. “You know what
we’re doing tomorrow, don’t you?”
Fanny’s black eyes were alight as she
met his gaze. “Taking Albany shopping!”
<0>
Milo and Simon joined Jason and Harry as the
later couple enjoyed the cold evening air. Jason was laughing as they walked up, and he
pointed at Harry, who was nodding.
“He says I should date an opera
singer.”
Harry didn’t stop nodding, but he
winked at Milo. “They have muscles in their mouths like you can’t imagine! And
if you’re really lucky—”
Milo threw up both hands and slipped past
them. “I’m outta here!”
To the fading sounds of laughter, he made
his way to Albany’s dressing room. The door was slightly open and he looked in,
expecting to find it empty. Instead, he saw Albany locked in the arms of a tall, blond
man.
“So,” Milo said, pushing the door
open. “I’m guessing you know each other.”
The couple looked up but didn’t
disengage. They were both smiling so broadly, Milo thought it looked painful.
“Milo!” Albany reached for his
hand. “Milo, this is Sam Pierce.” She smiled up at Sam. “He’s one of
my foster brothers.”
Sam laughed, shaking her. “The only one
that matters!”
Milo felt his heart relax back into place,
and he also smiled. “A pleasure.” The men shook hands, and Albany finally moved
clear of Sam’s embrace.
“I really have to go,” Sam said.
Albany looked stricken. “But you just
got here!”
“And the meter is running. I’ll
call you tomorrow, and we’ll see about getting together.”
She punched his arm. “You always
promise to call and never do!”
“I came to take Albany to dinner,”
Milo interjected. “You’re welcome to join us.”
“Another time,” Sam said, placing
a kiss on her cheek and edging for the door. “You look wonderful. Being engaged
agrees with you.”
Albany blushed, catching his hand.
“Please, call me.”
With a nod to Milo, Sam was gone. Albany
smiled as Milo bent to kiss her, but she smelled of Sam’s cologne, and he felt
another stab. Drawing in a breath, he straightened and saw Albany frowning at him.
“What?”
His momentary struggle ended in a grin.
“I’m suffering a bout of jealousy the likes of which I’ve never seen.”
She laughed, pressing a hand to his cheek.
“I love you. Now feed me.”
“With pleasure. And over dinner, you
can tell me all about Sam.”
<0>
Albany asked to be returned to the penthouse
when Milo expressed a desire to stop by MaryAnne’s studio. Milo saw Albany to the
elevator before returning to the car. Settling in the front seat, he reached for his
BlackBerry.
“I’m assuming that Jason is working on Sam Pierce.”
Simon grunted as he merged with traffic. “Amazing coincidence, wasn’t
that? Albany appears to have struck it rich, and the prodigal brother appears.”
Milo smirked as he scrolled through his messages. “I’m not sure if
I’m impressed or alarmed by your cynicism.”
“It keeps us both alive.”
“True. And frankly, I had exactly the same thought.” He dialed the phone.
“Great minds and all. Though I am in the dark as to this return to the
studio.”
Milo held up a finger for silence.
MaryAnne picked up on the second ring. “My master’s voice.”
Milo smiled, nodding. “Or so Elliot would have the world believe.”
“He’ll come around, trust me.”
“I do. And I wanted to know, are you at the studio?”
“No. Why?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve got a gut feeling I want to check out.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No. In fact, I want you to stay away until I give the all clear.”
“Milo,” her voice a mere whisper, “everything I am is in that
studio. Everything!”
“I won’t let anything happen to your work, I promise. I’ll call you
as soon as I can.”
“Hurry.”
Milo disconnected. “You heard the lady.”
<0>
The fifth-story loft was both dark and alight. For a second, Milo thought that
Elliot was watching TV as a pale blue glow twitched across the massive windows, but then a
ball of light impacted against the glass.
Simon had the trunk open and Bonefolder in hand as Milo dashed for the door. The
BlackBerry was out, and he bellowed for Joe to spring the locks on the warehouse.
Simon quickly joined him and held the sheathed hilt out. “What is it?”
“Not enough research. I had a bad feeling today when I saw Elliot throw out an
incomplete Tear Spell.”
Simon nodded toward the loft. “That’s an activated spell?”
“From the looks of things, I would say it’s several. And if Elliot is
treating all his castoffs with the same contempt, then it’s no wonder.” The buzz
of the lock disengaging made them both lunge. When Milo threw himself against the door to
the stairs, Simon followed.
Pounding up the stairs, Milo put a hand out when they reached the top floor.
“No arguments,” he panted. “I go first.”
Simon drew his gun, stepped clear of the door and leveled the barrel at the room
beyond. “Duck if you have to.”
With a deep breath, Milo pulled the door open less than a foot and waited.
“Well, at least he’s answered two burning questions with this little mess.”
“Oh?”
Milo slowly extended a hand into the room. “Not all spells need to be read,
specifically, and even more important,” he withdrew his hand and looked at the now
rust-colored leather of his glove, “his spells work.” He began buttoning his
coat closed.
“What is that?”
“Energy without a direction.”
“And you’re about to give it one,” Simon growled.
Milo grinned as he unsnapped Bonefolder. “Great minds and all.”
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Milo and
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