Milo...Work

       By Pattie Lawler

 

            “I’m very sorry, but I’m going to have to abandon heaven.”

            Albany turned face down into the pillow and nodded. “I should get back to work, too. Assuming I still have a job.”

            “I know Joe called your manager, who was suitably impressed that you have friends in the state department.  He assured Joe that national security was as important to him as any other red-blooded—”

            Albany threw a pillow at him.

            Laughing, he caught it and tossed it back. “How do you feel? Think you’re well enough for the flight? You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’m certainly not trying to toss you out or anything. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

            His nervous patter made her smile, and she wiggled across the bed to use his thigh as a pillow. “Don’t worry. I know what you mean, but the vacation had to come to an end eventually.” She rolled onto her back. “And I still don’t have a passport.”

            “Joe took care of that, too.”

            “Oh? And did she feed the fish?”

            “Sadly, she draws the line at livestock.”

            “Their deaths are on your head, Milo Scarlet.”

 <0>

            “I received a message from one of the researchers at Sotheby’s,” Milo announced over breakfast. “I, and thousands like me, have orders to be contacted should anything come through the door that’s on my wish list.”

            “So there are bloodbaths behind the scenes?”

            Milo smirked. “Like you can’t imagine.”

            “Uncle Milo saw a fist fight there once.”

            Albany looked across the table at Fanny and then at Milo, who was nodding, but holding up three fingers. “Fanny is fascinated by the image and brings it up as often as possible.”

            “Uncle Milo tells me that adults don’t brawl, except in bars.”

            Albany nodded. “He’s correct, but I’m sure he’s also told you that age has nothing to do with being an adult. You, Fanny, are far more mature than any number of singers I could introduce you to.”

            Fanny preened as she sipped her orange juice.

            Turning her attention back to Milo, Albany poured herself more tea. “Could I trouble you for a ride to the airport?”

            “Yeah, but it’ll cost you,” he murmured, smiling down at his coffee.

 <0>

            Panting, Milo dropped his forehead between her shoulder blades and awaited his return to Earth. They were both damp with sweat, and the scent of the warm air in the room betrayed all.

            “Honest admission alert,” Albany sighed as his weight settled on her back. “I hate the thought of letting you go, Milo. Having unlimited access to your body has spoiled me.”

            “I was just thinking that myself.”

            “What else were you thinking?”

            “I was thinking that if I rolled you over, I could get busy.”

            She smiled, twisting to kiss him. “When will you be in the city again?”

            “Not before I’m in Albany.”

            She laughed aloud. “That was terrible!”

            “But I’ve been dying to use it!” He chuckled as he began kissing her back, talking as he did. “Can I tell you what I really want to say?”

            “I was honest with you.”

            “I really want you to stay, Albany.”

            “And I really want to, Milo. Honest. A lot.”

            “But you have to work, and I have to work, and...” his voice trailed away as she tried to roll over.

            “Don’t talk,” she commanded. “We can talk in the car.”

 <0>

            Milo walked her to the plane, escorted by security. She was returning on a commercial flight, but it was Milo’s credentials that guaranteed her passage. They kissed goodbye at the end of the jetway, and he did his best to reassure her.

            “If you don’t get me, you’ll get Joe, and she’ll know where I am. I will call you as soon as I can.”

            Her smile was fleeting, but she paused to glance back at him before the guard insisted she take her seat.

            Milo waited as the cabin door was closed before making his way back to Simon.

            “Where to, boss?”

            “Drop me at Sotheby’s. Joe’s booked us in the Westbury. I’ll walk back after I meet with Chris.”

            “What are you going to see?”

            “A statue of Hypnos and one of the Oneiroi. Sleep and Dreams. Chris says there’s something very strange about it and wants me to take a look. He even hinted that they haven’t settled on an opening bid due to its strangeness.”

            Simon said nothing more, and Milo busied himself with an online furrier, picking out a coat for Albany.

 <0>

            Greeting those he knew and smiling at all others, Milo strode the halls to Chris Yeoman’s office. The agent in charge of Greek antiquities at Sotheby’s New Bond Street location, Milo and he had met over the acquisition of a pristine tripod currently on display at the Met in New York. It was unusual for Milo to actually place any of Chris’ offerings in his collection, but they consulted often on points of mutual interest.

            Peering around the doorjamb, Milo grinned at his friend, who waved him in while rolling his eyes at the phone pressed to his ear.

            “Won’t be but an hour,” Chris whispered, his hand over the receiver.

            Milo dropped himself into the only chair that wasn’t buried in papers and boxes, and began picking through the same.

            “Right, right, splendid.”

            Thinking that sounded hopeful, Milo looked up as Chris lay back in his chair, trying to get comfortable. Another five minutes passed in silence before Chris rocked forward with a soft growl. He put the phone on the desk, swung his monitor around so Milo could see, and picked up the phone again with a, “Right, right, splendid.” Typing, he brought up images of a 13 inch, marble statue of a standing man with an imp-like creature on his shoulder. That the imp once had wings was apparent from the second picture that scrolled by.

            The first impression Milo garnered from the photos was that they were very old. Hadn’t the auction house taken its own pictures? Where were the insurance plates? Leaning forward, he took the mouse and flipped through the yellowed and cracked images with something akin to consternation. Rising, he put the mouse down and pulled a sheet of paper from the printer. Taking the phone from Chris’ hand, he crumpled the paper over the receiver and affected a Southern drawl.

            “Hello? Pussycat? Pussycat, you there? What just happened, Pussycat? Your daddy longlegs was almost there!”

            The line went dead.

            With a smile, he set the phone down. “Some day you’ll go to headsets, and I’ll be screwed.”

            “Oh you will, will you, daddy longlegs?”

            Milo laughed, dropping back into the chair. “You can thank me later.” He pointed to the screen. “What’s with the pictures? They look circa 1930 something.”

            “Actually, they’re older than that. And frankly,” the Oxford educated mask came off for a second, “I’d like to shake the hand of the poor sod who had the balls to take ‘em.”

            “Okay...and why would that be?”

            Chris rose. “Walk this way.”

            Milo trailed him into the hall.

            “The statue’s pedigree in England goes back to the 12^th century when it was discovered amidst the grave goods of a man who was subsequently dubbed Merlin.”

            “But of course.”

            “Records from that far back are sketchy at best, but we do know that the statue was pronounced cursed and reburied. The ‘bad penny’ maxim works best with this piece of flotsam.”

            “Do you know how many times it was reentered?”

            Chris looked over his shoulder, nodding. “You’re thinking of Mexico City and Coatlicue. So did we.” They arrived at the lift. Chris pushed the button and turned to Milo. “Most of our knowledge was gathered from parish records and suchlike. Someone went to a lot of trouble to collect it all.”

            “I don’t follow you. How hard could it have been?” They entered the lift.

            “Unlike Mexico City, this statue never surfaced within twenty miles of its previous location.”

            Milo whistled. “A strong walker.”

            “To say the least. It might be fun to plot them out on an OS map and join the dots. Doubtless, the resulting picture will answer all our questions.”

            “Are there many dots to connect?”

            The doors rolled open on the vaults. “Over fifty that we know of.”

            Milo was galvanized. “That’s impossible!”

But Chris was nodding as he paused beside the security desk, handed over his ID and asked for the tag for vault 17. “Fifty, Milo, that we know of. Think of ones that slipped under the radar. I said the research was impressive, but not exhaustive. That’s a job for its future owner…should it go to the block.”

“You’re being cagey, Chris, and while I love a good mystery as much as the next man, I wanna know what’s up.”

As he spoke, Milo was removing clothing. The security guard had placed a plastic tote on the counter, and Milo was busily filling it. Used to the protocol involved in a visit to the vaults, he was soon in shirt, pants with his pockets turned out, and socks. After being wanded, they were handed a Random Security Access tag.

“This way,” Chris muttered, titling the tag to read the security code. “I’ll give you five minutes alone with it. When you get into the vault, sit down back to the wall, make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring up the lights.”

“And then what?”

“You’ll fall asleep like everyone else who’s been in the room with it. You’ll have the most outrageous dreams and will want to marry me in gratitude for waking you up.”

“What if I want to marry you now?”

“Then you’ll want to carry my baby.”

They stopped before a door, and Chris began entering in the numbers on the RSA display into the keypad. “Five minutes, Milo. It’s more than I’ve given anyone else, and I expect you to use each second wisely. I’ll want an answer when you get out.”

<0>

Milo trusted Chris enough to not question his command, so he sat down beside the door and braced himself as much as possible. In a moment, the overhead lights began to glow orange as they brightened, and he could make out the statue in a niche across from the door. On the floor before it was an abused, tube-like reliquary that had the dull, soft appearance of lead. He leaned to the right, examining the tube while forming the assumption that it was a means of sealing the statue away when he felt unaccountably drowsy.

“You’re not going to get me to look at you,” Milo murmured to the statue. “I know better.”

Knowing didn’t help.

Milo stood across from Franklin Bellamy, who knelt over his wife’s body. Bird song was the only sound, and the unbroken column of early morning sunlight the only source of light.

“Why?” Franklin whispered but then melted to the floor as blood poured from his mouth.

“It wasn’t personal,” Milo drawled, speaking the part of Franklin’s business partner and murderer. “You were getting too close to the truth, Frank, and I’ve put too much time into this project to let you ruin it for me.”

Milo set the still hot gun on the table and picked up the keys to the wall safe. Opening the thick steel door, he reached in and pulled out a snow white marble statue of a man with a bat-winged imp on his shoulder.

“BELLAMY!”

Spinning, Milo saw himself, ten years younger, standing over his dying brother-in-law. There was no color in his younger self’s face as his gaze fell on his twin sister.

“Elizabeth.”

The crack of gunfire ripped through the room, and a searing pain burned through his throat. Milo raised the statue over head, to batter Milo’s brains out, but then numbing cold filled his world, his limbs felt leaden, and he was falling.

Falling.

“You have got to be kidding.” Joanne’s voice, and echoing laughter, rattled off the shell of his skull. “That’s all you’ve got? Geez, Milo, my showerhead’s better than you.”

With an effort, he raised his head and saw Albany, naked on his bed, groping toward the box of tissues and the snowy statue on the nightstand. He called out to stop her, warn her, and she rolled over and spoke with Joanne’s voice, though her lips said something entirely different.

Falling. Falling still.

Weightless, he touched down, gently bounced, and his weight returned. He was on all fours, gazing at the heavy, gold signet ring on his pinky.

“It’s not mine,” he murmured. “It belongs to Fanny.”

“Okay, Milo! That’s enough!”

Milo’s eyes flew open. Blinking, he mentally came back to the dark vault and realized that he was in Chris’ embrace. His friend was pinning his arms as if he had been thrashing in his sleep. As he got his bearings, Milo touched Chris’ arm in gratitude.

“I’m good,” he whispered.

“And the only man who didn’t disgrace himself after Hypnos’ private interview,” Chris replied, releasing Milo. “Can you walk, or should I drag you back into the hall?”

“No, I’m good, really. I can walk.”

“Good. While you were in there, I opened 18. There’s a really terrific Chippendale dinning room set where we can sit. Think you can make it?”

Nodding, Milo used the wall for support as he rose and staggered to the open vault across the hall.

“Thoughts?” Chris said, bring up the lights.

Milo pulled a chair from beside the table and eased himself into it. “Your statue is desperate to get home. I’ve seen this sort of geas before, but never with this...determination.”

“Recommendations?”

“That depends,” Milo mused, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I’d like a crack at removing it, but at the same time, the suppressed memories it drug up were...” Words failed him.

Chris was nodding. “We can’t sell it as is, and no museum in its right mind would offer for it. A private collector with insomnia might be found, but the dream aspect of it is just too much. It’s a danger to all who come into contact with it.”

Milo’s hands fell to his lap as he dropped his head back and took several deep breaths. “If I can remove the geas, what then? What does the owner want?”

“The owner is dead. More, I cannot say.”

But Milo shrugged. “It’s not important. The estate wants a sale, and they clearly don’t care how it comes about.”

“So I gather.”

Milo rose, leaning heavily on the table. “I’ll have to send home for a few items. I suggest you keep it locked up until I can come back.”

Chris joined him and moved for the door. “We’re in no rush. Call me when you need access again.”

 

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