Balance (The Divine Book One) - By M.R. Forbes
Chapter 1
There was something about the way she moved; the feline grace of her body, the softness of her steps. The way her arms swayed languidly back and forth as she sauntered past me. She had black hair that fell to her hips in a single silken flow, blue eyes, olive skin, a pair of tights, a fitted red sweater, and a something extra that put her at the top of the 'out-of-your-league' Christmas wish list. What’s more, she was in a Museum! By herself! Yeah, I stared. No, she didn't notice.
It was my second week on the job at the Museum of Natural History, my first job post-incarceration. It was a long story, but the short simple version had to do with being a too-social computer geek and other people’s credit cards. I had been lucky to get such cake work. Normally the Museum didn't hire ex-cons, but they’d imported a special 'first time ever outside the Vatican, limited time only!' exhibit of ancient Catholic relics, prompting them to beef up staff. The nature of my crime hadn’t been violent or physical in any way, shape, or form, so they were willing to look past it. My job was simple, stand around and make sure nobody even tried to breathe funny on the artifacts.
Today, I was guarding cups. Excuse me, chalices. One in particular, a simple wooden one that sat at the end of the exhibit hall on a special pedestal surrounded by a rope, ten feet of space, tamper-proof, bullet-proof glass, and surveilled by every type of technology you could imagine. They said it was the cup Jesus drank out of at the Last Supper, the Holy Grail. It looked like it had come from 'The Last Crusade'. Lucas hadn't been off by much.
So far, the job had been as boring as I had assumed it would be. Every day from nine to twelve and one to close I would stand at the entrance to the exhibit room, watch the people go in and out, and occasionally wander up and down the aisles to make sure nobody got fingerprints on the glass enclosures. My greatest adversaries in this new career were children. They liked to touch things.
A particularly ambitious offender caught the corner of my eye, and I was forced to stop staring at the girl, who was approaching the wooden chalice at the end of the room. She seemed really interested in it. Very sexy.
Annoyed by the interruption to my creepy stalking, I walked over to where the little boy was standing, his hands and face pressed up against the glass. I peeked down at the label, Diamond Chalice, 771 A.D. There was more, but I didn't need to read it, I already had over a hundred times. It was a fancy piece of work that had been gifted to the Pope by Charlemagne. It tended to be a favorite with women, and even more so with kids. My guess was that the 'ooh shiny' part of his underdeveloped mind had taken over.
"Excuse me young sir," I said, kneeling down to get my face at a level with his. "The rules clearly state there will be no touching of the glass."
He looked at me, and I pointed my finger over at the 'DO NOT TOUCH’ sign. He laughed and ran off to find his mother, who had moved on with little concern for the location of her brood. I watched him go, skirting through the line of adults and latching onto her hand. She looked down at him, and he pointed back to where I was still crouching. She gave me a Medusa look and yanked the little tattletale forward. What was with parents these days anyway? God forbid their kids actually follow the rules. Wait... did I just say that?
I was contemplating the human aging process and that weird phenomenon that occurs when we somehow begin to turn into our parents, when a collective murmur caught my attention. I stood and looked around for the source. Damn!
The cutie with the black hair was inside the rope line! Not really that impressive I know, but this was a major infraction in the Museum Guard handbook. At least it would give me an excuse to talk to her. I began pushing my way through the gathering crowd, who were complaining of course that she was obstructing their view.
"Excuse me, miss," I said to her back.
She had reached the tamper-proof, bulletproof glass, and was standing there in a very thoughtful pose, her left hand up to her chin, her right tapping on her hip. She ignored me, which was about what I would expect from someone like her. I picked up my radio and called for backup. I didn't have the authority to move her. Only the senior guards could do that.
"Hey Jimmy," I said. "I have a little situation over in the chalice exhibit. There's a girl here who thinks she has exclusive viewing rights to the Last Supper cup." There was a short silence before the reply.
"Chalice, Landon. It’s a chalice. I'll be right there." He sounded like I had woken him up. I probably had.
I broke the rope barrier and approached the girl. She still didn't move. "Miss, are you okay?" I asked.
Better to play it sensitive. She didn't react at all to the sound of my voice. I didn't expect much attention from someone like her, but to treat me like I wasn't there? That was a little much. I flicked my eyes back towards the entrance. It should only take Jimmy a minute to get over from the office. When I looked back at the girl, she was cutting through the glass with her fingertip.
"Uhh..." My mind lost a step at the sight, tripping over itself and sending the rest of my body into a spastic overload. Does not compute. I picked up the radio again.
"Jimmy, where the hell are you," I yelled, my voice going up an octave. I looked again. Her finger appeared more like a claw now, and it really was cutting through the glass; the bulletproof, tamper-proof glass. The alarm started ringing.
Jimmy finally trundled into the exhibition hall, his breathing heavy as he pulled up next to me. Old… check. Overweight… check. Out of shape… did you doubt? He was your standard issue Museum guard.
"Geez Landon," he said. "You didn't tell me she was hot." He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry miss but you’ll have to go back behind the rope line.”
There was a blur of red, and the next thing I knew, Jimmy was on the floor sans one appendage. Chaos entered the building.
The crowd that had gathered to watch the show began to scream. I began to scream and backpedal as the girl turned and looked at me. Her eyes were yellow; her teeth were elongated into fangs. It was straight out of an issue of Fangoria. She growled, blasted the rest of the tamper-proof, bulletproof, glass into dust with her fist, grabbed the Grail, and ran towards the spectators - all in the space of three seconds.
Still backpedaling, my legs hit the rope and I tumbled backwards. The last thing I saw was the devil-girl dropping a package that looked all too familiar from any number of action movies. There was a loud pop, and a lot of heat. As I felt my life slipping away, I could hear the screams and smell the cooked flesh. I wasn't the only one who died that day.