Milo...Roving
By Pattie Lawler
Sam hurried down the corridor; Milo jogged in his wake.
He was excited by what lay before him, anxious for Albany’s safety, and
curious about how Simon was making out. More than half is mind was processing what little
information he had, searching for possible—though highly improbable—reasons for
the time slips.
“Have you noticed anything unusual,” he asked as Sam held a door for him.
“I’ve been very overworked...no, not overwork...tired, I would say.”
They entered a lab, and Milo stood aside, waiting direction. Sam pointed as he
moved toward a table supporting several open crates and mountains of straw.
“You’ve just received it?” Milo asked with some confusion.
“No. This is another acquisition. The Oriental department is overwhelmed, an
upcoming exhibit on Chinese bronzes. There’s a terrific Shang dynasty...”
His voice faded, drawing Milo’s attention. “Sam?”
“Umm?”
“You okay?”
Looking momentarily confused, Sam nodded.
Milo was unconvinced. “What year is it?”
“What? Shang dynasty?”
“No. Now.”
“2007.”
Milo smiled. “So whatever’s effecting time is on the move.” He
reached for his phone and commanded it to, “Call Simon.” As it rang, he joined
Sam, who was pulling a tray of arrowheads to the edge of the table while reaching for a
magnifying headset.
“Presumed to be from the Shang dynasty,” Sam said, donning gloves and
passing the headset to Milo. “But I want you to look near the tips. I think
there’s an inscription.”
Milo slipped the headset into place, blinked at his blurred vision and held his
free hand out to accept the arrowhead Sam offered him.
He saw Sam’s hand hugely magnified in the headset, a metallic flash and
blackness.
The BlackBerry was no longer ringing, and he was alone in the dark lab.
Whipping the headset off, he spun in place, confirming that he was indeed alone.
Moreover, the bluish light from the several windows declared the hour far advanced from
what it had been mere seconds ago.
“Sam!” he called, his gaze dropping to his empty hand, still extended to
receive the arrowhead. Lifting his other hand, he repeated the command to call Simon. The
cell’s blank face told him that the battery was dead. Cursing, he slipped it into his
pocket and hurried for the exit.
The clock over the door caught his attention.
“Ten o’clock?”
He pushed the door open, checked to see that the corridor was empty, and stepped
out.
The only light came from the red exit sign above the door that led to the museum
proper, and a green, glowing, golf ball-sized light at chest height before the door. He
drew himself up, softly closing the lab door behind him.
“What are you?”
You can see me?
“Yes, I can. What are you?”
Why can you see me?
Why indeed? Though he had an inkling, and that suspicion gave him the confidence to
reach toward the glow.
As the green light illuminated the tan of his glove, a deep loathing of everything
on Earth swelled in his chest. He wanted to smash the green light, the door beyond, and
anything he encountered. His lips curled into a sneer as he snatched the glow into his
fist and squashed it like a bug.
And the loathing evaporated.
Milo drew in a breath so deep it felt like he hadn’t breathed in hours.
Opening his hand, he saw only the smooth leather of his glove.
Understanding dawned.
Somewhere in the museum, spirits roamed, their only desire to continue a centuries
old battle, and he had to find and destroy them. He took a step back, regrouping, then
spun and jerked the lab door open.
Flipping on the light, he glanced at the clock, registered that it was now nine
o’clock and returned to Sam’s work station. A moment’s reflection conjured
an image of the specimen tray and he counted eight arrowheads. All possessed, he assumed,
to be on the safe side. He searched for the tray, but finally had to admit defeat. No
doubt Sam locked them up before leaving for the night.
“Whatever night that was,” he murmured, removing a glove while hunting
for a razor.
<0>
The clock was firmly convinced that the hour hadn’t advanced beyond nine when
Milo left the lab fifteen minutes later. The corridor, devoid of any green glow, remained
empty as he opened the door and stole into the periphery of the Greek and Roman galleries.
He knew how the museum’s security system worked; had ‘broken in’ on
several occasions to help with surveillance tests, so he moved through the darkened
galleries with familiarity. The oriental wing was his goal, working on the assumption that
Shang period arrowheads would want to attack their own kind before moving onto the rest of
the collection. His nearest route was the main staircase, but he paused in the cloakroom
to reclaim his coat before dashing up the wide marble stairs.
At the top, he stopped in the shadow of a column, catching his breath and examining
the back of a security guard who was lumbering toward the Asian wing. Near the base of the
man’s neck was a green glow.
Hitching a ride, Milo thought, and
further speculated that the arrowheads’ magic was more specific that he assumed. No
doubt the inscription Sam had wanted to show him was an incantation stipulating a period
of time, or headcount, needed to be reached before the spell could dissipate. Indicating a
time period in the spell allowed the arrows to manipulate time in this century. How the
logarithm worked, however, he didn’t try to guess.
It was unimportant because it wasn’t affecting him owing to his insurance.
Pressed against the small of his back and held in place by his belt was a gold
handled, iron knife called Osiris’ Thigh. The metal of the thin blade wasn’t
native to Earth, being forged from meteoric iron, making it far older than the metal of
the arrowheads and impervious to their roving spell. Milo had last carried this blade when
he approached Somnia, but this time, he anticipated a far different outcome.
Pushing off the column, he was about to run around the staircase and intercept the
guard when he caught sight of a familiar back standing beyond the glass doors of the next
gallery. Leaping forward, he was through the doors and at her side.
“Albany!”
She languidly turned and blinked at him, her head cocked. “Yes?”
He caught her hand and tugged her toward the nearest wall, out of sight of the
guard. “My God, Albany, what are you doing here?”
Shaking her head as if to dislodge the cobwebs of sleep, she pulled her hand free
and stepped back. “Who are you?”
Shocked surprised became dampening disappointment. She’d been sucked into one
of the spirits’ time warps and had regressed to a point before their relationship.
Stomping on frustration, his gaze swept the gallery. “My name is Milo.”
“How do you know my name? Are you a security guard?”
“No, I’m not, but there’s one coming, and we’d better
hide.” He didn’t wait to hear her protestations but drew her into the next
gallery, just beside the door and cautioned her to silence. She obeyed, but her eyes
demanded an explanation at their first free second.
He leaned past her, watching for the guard, and jerked back as the man’s
shadow darkened the wall opposite. Milo heard the rasping breath, heard the glass doors
swing open and closed and then he looked down at Albany. The silence went on for a full
minute before he stepped back and began his whispered explanation.
“I know this is going to be hard to believe but you’ve been touched by
evil magic. Before you object,” he hastened to quiet her snort of derision,
“just listen to me. You think you fell asleep in the museum...am I right?”
She looked annoyed but nodded.
“Can you remember why you came? I mean, an opera singer’s schedule,”
she started, “is always full at this time of year, isn’t’ it? You
wouldn’t have come here without good reason.”
“Are you some kind of stalker?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “The magic has made you forget you know me.”
He moved into the soft light of a security camera and spread his coat. “I wore
leather pants tonight because you asked me to. There are two framed Erte posters in your
kitchen; they’re costume designs for The Marriage of Figaro, and I’m sorry to hurt you,
but I’m saying this to prove my point.” He locked eyes with her. “Your
murdered brother’s name was David.”
Her mouth opened in horror, and her voice was thin. “It seems I know you very well.”
He nodded. “I would give you more detail if there were time, but the magic
that made you forget me is loose in the museum, and I have to stop it.”
“So you’re like a Ghostbuster?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “After a fashion, yes.”
“But,” her gaze swept his body, “you don’t seem to have any
equipment.”
“Like in the movie? No.” He reached for Orisis’ Thigh, his free hand
palm-out in a gesture meant to soothe her. “Don’t be alarmed. This knife is iron
from a meteorite so most Earthbound spells don’t affect it.”
Albany had recoiled at the sight of the blade, her eyes darting to the gallery door
as if judging the distance and any obstacles.
Milo backed away again, giving her more room. “This knife allows me to see the
manifestations of the spell.”
She leaned toward the door. “And you want me to believe that you came to the
museum tonight with a knife...just ‘cause?”
“I did not. It’s complicated, but this knife and I made a deal of sorts
and I can conjure it in extreme emergencies.”
She took a step, still leaning. “Why extreme?”
“Because when I do, it basically costs me a year of my life.”
Albany jerked to a stop, stood straight up and faced him. “Are you
insane?”
He hissed, gesturing for her to lower her voice. “The spell is using the
security guards for transport. They don’t know I’m here. I destroyed one but
knew I’d need help so yes, I conjured the knife.”
“And now you’re going to live to be 89 and not 90?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a total ass, do you know that?”
“Only when it comes to protecting the people I love.”
She looked unsure. “Are...we in
love?”
He smiled. “I don’t put on leather pants for just anyone.”
Her mouth opened to speak again but then her hand stabbed out, pointing behind him.
Milo spun as a clawed hand reached for him. Ducking under the arm, he came up behind the
man and snatched the green glow off his back. For a second, he was consumed with loathing,
and then he crushed it.
The guard and Albany disappeared, and the ambient light brightened.
Milo swore in French before resuming his trek.
<0>
But the pair of security guards weren’t in the Asian wing. No one was. Milo
walked to the end of the gallery, sat with his back to the nearest wall and considered.
Not knowing what the spell was made anticipating it impossible. He could wander the
museum all night and never see another one.
And Albany was roaming the galleries.
He didn’t doubt that when he found her again she would have no idea who he
was, and while the idea stung, the desire to see her drove him to his feet and sent him in
quest of the spells.
<0>
In the American wing, he found both Albany and a possessed guard at the same
moment. The guard was turning toward her, and she, facing Milo, appeared obvious of her
danger.
Lunging forward, he caught and pulled her into a niche behind a statue. Turning, he
placed her against the wall, his back offering a solid expanse of black to any searching
eyes. His arm pressed her tight to his chest, his free hand covered her mouth. She wiggled
to free herself, and he was forced to bend to her ear, hissing for her to be quiet.
“He’ll notice us,” he cautioned, slowly drawing his hand from her
lips.
In the ensuing stillness, the breathing of the guard was sinister enough to make an
impression on her, and she nodded, leaning closer as if to further minimize their bodies.
The warmth of her skin caressed his cheek. Of their own volition, his eyes sank
closed as he breathed in the fragrance of her hair. Her weight against his arm as she
relaxed offered him an excuse to shift her, drawing her closer as he slid his arm higher.
The soft padding of her breasts erased all thought for a second, and he turned his head to
breathe and gather his wits.
He couldn’t remember ever wanting her
more than he did at that moment.
In his mind, he smiled.
Albany was suddenly a forbidden fruit that
he was desperate to taste. The thought that he could seduce her, knowing just what drove
her wild, made his blood burn. He knew she had sculpted his skills, that he had come to
her a blank page, and the wild desire to test that ability threatened to expose him.
He backed away.
But she clung as if fearful of discovery. He
looked down into her wide eyes and smiled to reassure her. She rose onto her toes to reach
his ear.
“I’m frightened.”
Shocked at such an admission, he leaned
forward and saw the green glow at the back of her neck.
Knowing he had nothing to lose, Milo lifted
her chin with one hand while the other reached for the glow.
“I love you, Albany,” he
whispered, kissing her as he crushed the light.