Warehouse 13: A Touch of Fever (14 page)

An enthusiastic round of applause greeted the healer, who appeared to have shed her sideshow trappings and stage name for this slightly more dignified venue. The former carnie wore a tailored beige dress suit and skirt that nicely matched her gloves. Her makeup was more conservative too. Tastefully applied eyeliner and mascara had replaced the exotic kohl-eyed look she had sported before. No ruby baubles adorned her forehead. She was ready for prime time.

Not if I can help it,
Pete thought.

All eyes were on Nadia, giving him the anonymity he needed. With no one looking, he seized the handle on the fire alarm and yanked it down.

An ear-piercing siren blared, cutting off the applause. Confusion and anxiety shot through the audience. People scrambled to their feet and started heading for the doors. Up on the stage, Nadia froze in bewilderment, interrupted before she could say a single word. Jim rushed out from behind the curtain and herded her toward the nearest exit—just as Pete had hoped. Atlas followed closely behind them.

“Everybody out!” Pete shouted above the siren. “Nice and orderly!”

Beating the exodus to the front door, he dashed out of the gym and raced around to the back, where he found Myka waiting for him. His partner was staked out in a courtyard behind the gymnasium, facing a rear door that, if Pete’s mental geography was correct, corresponded to the fire exit behind the stage. It was early evening, and the stars were just starting to come out. A clear sky promised perfect weather for artifact snagging. Twilight painted the horizon in shades of red and purple Elevated lamp poles lit up the paved yard. There was no way Nadia could slip past them unseen.

The agents didn’t have to wait long. The back door swung open. Nadia, Jim, and Atlas hurried out of the gym—to find themselves face-to-face with Pete and Myka.

“End of the line, kids.”

Jim reached beneath his jacket for a knife, but Pete already had the drop on him.

“Uh-uh.” He kept his Tesla aimed at the trio. “No sideshow tricks this time. Hands up in the air.”

“And keep that glove where we can see it,” Myka added.

Atlas shoved his way in front of his two young charges. “You again?” he rumbled. Loyalty to his fellow carnies, or perhaps steroids, overcame his sense of self-preservation. He charged at Pete like an enraged bull. “I going to cram that toy ray-gun up your—”

A galvanic bolt turned him into the Amazing Electric Man. He hit the pavement like a slab of meat. Pete was inclined to leave him there. Moving him would probably require a forklift.

“So much for Atlas the Mighty,” Pete said. He turned the gun back toward Nadia and Jim. “I’m hoping you two are smarter than Mister Muscle here. Don’t make me use up all my batteries.”

In fact, the Tesla was going to need some time to recharge after downing Atlas, but Jim and Nadia didn’t know that. And Pete wasn’t about to tell them.

“Now, then,” Myka said. “Where were we?”

She approached Nadia warily, not wanting a replay of last time’s electroshock treatment. Pete covered her as she donned a pair of purple gloves and held out her hand. “You remember the drill. Give me the glove, Nadia. Slowly.”

“I don’t believe this!” Jim glared furiously at the agents. He, too, had ditched his carnival garb for more casual attire. His fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t you people have better things to do than hassle innocent people?”

“Can it, easy rider. We’ve heard it all before.” Pete made a mental note to have Myka frisk Jim for knives after she was done with Nadia. “And hey, thanks for the flat tires the other night. Nothing I like more than crashing my car into a ditch. I’m fine, by the way.”

Jim spit at the ground. “Too bad.”

Pete reminded himself that the kid was just defending his girlfriend. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, chum.” He brandished the spent Tesla like it still had some juice in it. “Or I might forget I’m a professional.”

Nadia was giving Myka a hard time too. “Please, not again.” Tears leaked from her eyes, smearing her makeup. “You don’t understand. This is my calling. It’s what I was meant to do.”

Pete could tell she meant it. A shame that didn’t make a bit of difference.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” Myka said firmly. “The glove, Nadia. Now.”

“No! You can’t have it!”

The girl lunged forward, hoping to “heal” Myka, again, but the agent was ready for her this time. Myka deftly sidestepped the attack, spinning into a roundhouse kick that swept Nadia’s legs out from under her. The young woman fell forward onto the pavement. Before she even knew what was happening, Myka had her wrists pinned.

“Sorry about that,” the agent said. She knelt on top of the prone healer. Her knee dug into Nadia’s back, holding her down. She twisted Nadia’s right arm behind her back. “Did I mention that my ankle is much better now?”

The expert takedown knocked the wind out of Nadia, or maybe she just realized she was hopelessly outmatched. She put up little resistance as Myka forcibly pried the glove from the girl’s right hand, then rose to her feet.

“Got it,” she informed Pete. “Finally.”

“That’s one down.” He relaxed a little. “Now we just need to find the other one.”

She placed the glove in a silver bag for safekeeping. Once again the goo visibly failed to neutralize it. She stepped away from Nadia, freeing the girl to get off the pavement. Myka glanced at the lights of the city, visible beyond the parking lot. “In theory, it should be on its way here.”

Pete started thinking ahead. “Maybe we can use this glove as a compass . . . or bait?”

“Worth a try,” Myka said. ‘I’ll bet Claudia has some ideas along those lines.”

Sobbing gently, Nadia climbed slowly to her feet and sought refuge in her boyfriend’s arms. She stared with naked longing at the bag holding the confiscated glove. Pete half expected her to start mumbling about “her precious,” like Gollum in
The Lord of the Rings.

Jim spoke up instead. “Other glove?”

Pete didn’t bother to explain. He wondered if it was worth interrogating the couple, or if he and Myka should just let them go. He didn’t see any point in handing them over to the authorities. There were no laws against using rare historical artifacts to heal people, at least as far as he knew.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about Clara Barton?”

Before either Jim or Nadia could answer, a hoarse, raspy voice interrupted.

“Excuse me, miss. Can you help me?”

A bald-headed stranger emerged from the rear of the gym, looking badly in need of Nadia’s services. Hollow cheeks and sunken eyes gave the man’s face a distinctly cadaverous appearance. His papery skin was dry and colorless. He walked stiffly, as though every movement pained him. A tan trench coat was draped over his bony frame. Pete could hear the man’s ragged breathing from yards away. The guy looked like death warmed over.

Pete thought he recognized the newcomer from the audience before. A bad vibe played chopsticks on his spine. He covered his mouth to avoid catching whatever the poor guy had while still keeping one eye on Jim and Nadia.

“Sorry, buddy.” He tried to send the stranger on his way. “Now is not a good time.”

The man kept on coming. “Please, I’ve come such a long way. If I could just have a few moments with Nadia?”

He grimaced and clutched his gut. Pain contorted his face.

Pete felt sorry for the guy, who had showed up too late. He lowered the Tesla and took out his badge. “Official business, sir. Please move along.”

Neither the gun nor the badge discouraged the desperate stranger, who continued to shamble toward them. Watery, bloodshot eyes were fixed on Nadia, like she was the only thing that mattered. Veins pulsed beneath his hairless scalp.

“Back away, mister.” Pete didn’t want to get rough with some poor sick dude, but the guy wasn’t leaving him any choice. “Don’t force us to have you removed.”

The weather, which been perfectly calm before, took a turn for the worse. Churning black clouds rolled in from nowhere, darkening the sky. A sudden wind whipped up the candy wrappers and cigarette butts littering the courtyard. The temperature took a nosedive, shedding degrees faster than Gypsy Rose Lee had ditched her veils before they ended up in the Warehouse. The wind chilled Pete to the bone. He shivered beneath his jacket. Goose bumps pebbled his skin.

“Myka?” He glanced over at his partner. “I have a really bad feeling. . . .”

She was staring intently at the stranger, who had just stepped into the glow of an elevated lamp. Her eyes widened in alarm.

“Pete!” She pointed at the stranger. “His hand! Look at his hand!”

A white kid glove, just like Nadia’s, sheathed the man’s fingers.

Holy cow,
Pete realized.
It’s the other glove.

The one that makes people sick.

The stranger snarled. Glaring at Nadia, he noticed for the first time that her right hand was bare. “Where is it?” he demanded. “Give it to me!”

He reached out with his left hand. An invisible force yanked Myka’s arm up. She struggled to hold on to the silver bag containing Nadia’s glove, which appeared to have been seized by a powerful magnetic pull. She grasped it with both hands, fighting against the attraction. “Pete! The glove! I can barely hold on to it!”

The weather went nuts. The sky turned into a mass of seething storm clouds. Fierce winds nearly knocked Pete off his feet. Airborne dust and grit pelted his face. His breath frosted before his lips.

The stranger felt the pull of the gloves as well. He spun toward Myka. “You! You have it!” His arm outstretched, he stumbled toward her. “It’s mine! Give it to me!”

That sounded like a bad idea to Pete. He squeezed the trigger of the Tesla, but the gun only sputtered; Pete kicked himself for wasting its charge on Atlas. The stranger lunged at Myka, who was too busy hanging on to the bag to defend herself. His gloved hand groped for her. That was the bad glove, Pete recalled. It wasn’t going to heal Myka.

“Stay away from her, Typhoid Barry!” With no time to lose, he tackled the stranger, slamming him into a lamppost. The man grunted out loud. Pete hoped he hadn’t hurt the guy too bad. For all he knew, it was the glove that had driven the stranger crazy—just like that pirate wench back in Charleston.

“That’s enough, pal.” Pete grabbed the man’s left wrist, holding the bad glove away from him. He had no intention of getting zapped like Myka had back at the carnival . . . or worse. “Cool down and this will all be over in a jiffy.”

“Unhand me!” The stranger thrashed like a crazy person. “You asked for this!”

He spit a mouthful of phlegm into Pete’s face. “Yecch!” the agent sputtered. Repulsed, he tried to wipe his face with his sleeve, briefly loosening his grip on the stranger, who proved stronger than he looked. With a burst of manic energy, he tore his wrist free and grabbed Pete’s shoulder with his left hand. A swirling gray haze flowed from his fingers before sinking through Pete’s jacket.

It was like being hit by a speeding plague wagon. Pete staggered backward, clutching his shoulder. A hot, feverish sensation spread all over his body. His skin threw off heat like a furnace. His head swam and he leaned against the side of the car to steady himself. He coughed hoarsely. His stomach ached.

What had this creep done to him?

“Pete!” Myka cried out. “Oh my God, Pete!”

A few feet away, Jim Doherty tugged on Nadia’s arm. “This is our chance. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“No!” Nadia protested. “Not without my glove!”

The stranger shoved Pete aside. He advanced on Myka, moving noticeably more smoothly than before. He no longer seemed quite so infirm. “Give me that glove!”