Warehouse 13: A Touch of Fever (19 page)

Artie lost his appetite. “Thanks for that visual.” He put away what was left of his donut before pacing back and forth behind Claudia. “Maybe we’re going at this the wrong way.”

“How do you mean?”

“We know the gloves are being drawn together, and that Worrall is after Nadia’s glove. So perhaps we should focus our efforts on finding her?”

Claudia connected the dots. “Because where Nadia is, Worrall is sure to follow.”

“With the glove that made Pete sick.” Artie wasn’t sure which glove they actually needed to cure Pete, but maybe it didn’t matter. “Forget Worrall for now. Concentrate on finding Nadia.”

“And then?” she asked.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Find me Nadia—and that glove.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.” She cleared her screen and started over. A blinking cursor awaited her direction. “Let’s see, if I was mystical healer with delusions of grandeur, where would I be this weekend?”

“Don’t forget,” he coached her. “She may be using a new alias or stage name.”

“Well, duh. Like I wasn’t going to think of that?”

He backed off to give her a little space. Breathing down Claudia’s neck was not going to find an answer any faster, or at least he didn’t think so. He stretched his weary limbs. His creaking muscles and joints reminded him of just how long he had been at this. He envied Claudia’s youth and enthusiasm. She was going to be a great agent someday—if she lasted that long.

“Okay, now. That’s more like it!”

Her infectious grin boded well. New Age music tinkled from her computer’s speakers. He rushed back over to her desk.

“What is it? What did you find?”

“Take a gander at this, old man.”

She gestured smugly at the monitor, which now displayed a Web site advertising a large psychic fair being held later today in New York’s Central Park.
OVER 150 PSYCHICS, MYSTICS, SEERS, HEALERS, AND VENDORS!
the site proclaimed.
AURA READINGS, CHANNELING WORKSHOPS, ANGEL GUIDES, CHAKRA IMAGING, DIVINATION, YOGA, MEDIUMS, AND PAST-LIFE REGRESSION. AN ENLIGHTENING AND SPIRITUALLY UPLIFTING EXPERIENCE FOR ALL OF MOTHER EARTH’S CHILDREN!

More like plenty of careless amateurs meddling in things that should be left alone,
Artie thought crankily. He had cleaned up too many messes caused up by well-meaning people tampering with the preternatural. Not everybody knew how to handle their gifts like Leena.

“It says here that thousands of people are expected to attend,” Claudia said. “Including a certain up-and-coming psychic healer?”

“Possibly.” Artie was impressed by her discovery. This was a promising lead. He skimmed the Web site, perusing the fine print. “Any mention of Nadia or Princess Nefertiti?”

“Not by name,” she conceded. “But c’mon, how can she resist a woo-woo-palooza like this? Think of all the people she could heal.”

“Yes,” he added soberly. “And all the people Calvin Worrall can infect.”

The prospect of the gloves converging in Central Park of all places filled Artie with apprehension. This was bigger than just Pete and what might happen to him. This was a potential catastrophe in the making.

Artie’s Farnsworth rested on a nearby bookshelf. He snatched it up.

To hell with what time it was on the East Coast. He needed to get hold of Myka.

Before New York City turned into a plague zone.

14

WAREHOUSE 13

An electronic chirp awoke Claudia, jolting her from a freaky dream involving David Bowie, a computer virus, and the planet Mongo. “No, no, not the boreworms,” she murmured groggily before lifting her head from her keyboard. An embarrassing puddle of drool provided forensic evidence that she had dozed off at her desk. She wiped off her cheek as she found herself back in Artie’s office. Her computer beeped insistently, making her wish it came with a snooze button. A flashing red icon on the monitor announced that the motion detectors had registered a disturbance down on the Warehouse floor.
WARNING: POSSIBLE ARTIFACT ACTIVITY!
the message blinked, like a dashboard engine alert.
IMMEDIATE ACTION RECOMMENDED.

“Okay, okay.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. Any lingering impressions of the dream receded back into her unconscious. She stuck her tongue out at the computer. “I hear you. Don’t have a cow.”

“What’s the matter?” Artie asked from across the room. He looked up from his Farnsworth, where he seemed to be engaged in updating Myka on their recent discoveries. “Hold on a moment,” he told Myka, annoyed by the interruption. His raised eyebrows interrogated Claudia. “Anything serious?”

“Doubtful.” She stabbed a key to kill the alarm. Chances were, it was no big deal. The motion detectors were a relatively new addition to the Warehouse’s security systems, and they were still working out the bugs. Random energy discharges triggered false alarms way too frequently as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want to think about how much of her valuable time she had wasted checking on them. “Probably just another roving ball of static.”

“You positive about that?” Artie glanced back and forth between his Farnsworth and the computers, his concentration pulled in two directions. He started to get up from his chair. “Maybe I should—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Claudia said, hurrying to beat him to the punch. Artie had more important things to worry about right now, like finding Clara Barton’s gloves in time to save Pete. She could take care of any minor distractions. “I’m on it.”

Her brain hadn’t fully woken up yet, so she snagged a Red Bull from the fridge and took a long swig from the can before heading for the door. With any luck, the sugar and caffeine would give her enough of a buzz to check on whatever irritating glitch had given the sensors conniptions.
Talk about lousy timing,
she thought.
Like we don’t have bigger fish to harpoon right now?

“Don’t forget your Farnsworth,” Artie nagged her. “In case you need to check back with me.”

She rolled her eyes. Did he really think she couldn’t handle this on her own? She had only done this a zillion times before. “Yes, Mother.”

Rummaging around, she located the device beneath a pile of old Civil War casualty reports. The polished black lozenge was not just any Farnsworth; it was Philo’s original prototype, which Artie had gifted her with a while ago. It was her prized possession, so she tucked it carefully into the pocket of her denim jacket. Going back to her computer, she noted the coordinates of the disturbance. A roll-out map on one wall offered a row-by-row guide to the Warehouse, complete with handwritten corrections and annotations, and she looked up the address. Just her luck, it was way on the other side of the Warehouse.

One of these days she wanted to install a GPS unit in her Farnsworth, so she could navigate the Warehouse the twenty-first-century way, but Artie had practically blown a gasket the last time she had tinkered under the prototype’s hood, so she was stuck relying on the map for now.
Just you wait,
she thought.
I’m gonna upgrade this gizmo eventually.

Artie kept one eye on her as she got ready. “Let me know right away if there’s a problem.”

“You just concentrate on helping Myka and Pete.” She gulped down the last of Red Bull and chucked the can into an overflowing wastebasket. “Leave this to me.”

A door led out to a high gallery overlooking the Warehouse’s main floor. Claudia closed it behind her before he could think of something else to kvetch about. It was bad enough that she had to bother with this right now. Artie needed to let it go—for Pete’s sake.

She just hoped she wouldn’t miss anything important.

The gallery offered a panoramic view of the Warehouse’s vast interior, which stretched for miles above and below her. An oversize pair of binoculars, of the coin-operated sort found at scenic vantage points at the Grand Canyon or Mount Rushmore, were mounted on the railing, but she didn’t bother using them to search for her destination. She already knew where she was going, more or less.

“Figures.” The nuisance would have to be on the other side of anywhere, especially at a time like this. Why couldn’t it be a short hop away from the office for once? It would take forever to get there by foot. Good thing there was a faster way across the Warehouse . . . assuming you weren’t
too
afraid of heights.

A decrepit keyboard jutted from the brick wall behind her. Claudia entered her password, then keyed in the coordinates. An elaborate gear-and-pulley system responded, manipulating an inclined stainless steel cable that was stretched taut above the main storage area. The mechanism realigned the cable until it was pointed in the right direction. A pulley was suspended upon the cable at the top of the incline. Metal handlebars hung below the pulley.

“Oh, boy.” She contemplated the zip line with little enthusiasm; this wasn’t exactly her favorite way to get around the Warehouse. “Here we go again.”

An upright metal locker rested against the wall. Rusty hinges squeaked as she tugged it open. Protective gear hung inside the locker, and she reluctantly helped herself to a crash helmet, a safety harness, thick leather work gloves, and knee and elbow pads. By the time she put it all on, she looked like she was ready to break up a soccer riot. She closed the locker and approached the zip line. A gap in the railing opened onto empty space. She peeked over the edge and instantly regretted it.

“Okay, that’s a loooong way down.”

She couldn’t believe she was actually doing this while sleep deprived, but how else was she supposed to check on things without it taking all morning? Being careful not to skip a step in the procedure, she clipped the harness to the pulley, then took hold of the handlebars with both hands. She took a deep breath and backed up as much as she could to get a running start. Second, third, and fourth thoughts weighed down her feet, but she mentally consigned them to a garbage file. Pete and Myka were in trouble. She needed to get this over with and get back to the office ASAP, which meant taking a flying leap.

She dashed forward and launched herself off the gallery.

“Up in the air, junior birdman!”

The zip line carried her high above the floor of the Warehouse at a heart-stopping speed; she wished she hadn’t been quite so conscientious about keeping the line well lubricated. Her legs dangled freely as she swung back and forth beneath the cable. The airborne descent was both terrifying and exhilarating. An adrenaline rush was more effective than any so-called energy drink. All at once, she wasn’t drowsy at all.

Just scared out of her wits.

A bird’s-eye view of the Warehouse rushed below her. She slid above towering shelves and elevated metal gantries and catwalks. A labyrinth of overstuffed aisles, vaults, and storage areas, intersecting at seemingly random angles, reminded her of just how ridiculously big and complicated the Warehouse was. Not even Myka could memorize its convoluted layout, although Claudia suspected that Myka had given it her best shot. Amidst the never-ending galleries and archives, Claudia glimpsed a squadron of Air Force bombers (salvaged with great difficulty from the Bermuda Triangle), a fully inflated zeppelin (floating over the postwar extension), a beached cruise liner, the
real
Rosetta stone, a larger-than-life-size fiberglass statue of Paul Bunyan, a Venetian gondola, and even a full-size replica of Leena’s Bed-and-Breakfast, complete with turret and shuttered windows. Okay, to be exact, the one in the Warehouse was the original B&B and the one outside Univille was the reproduction, but why split hairs? A Claudia-size hole in the B&B’s ceiling, left over from the last time she had (literally) dropped in, had yet to be repaired. One of these days, she really needed to take care of that. . . .

A shadow passed over her.

“What the frak?”

She glanced up quickly. For a split second she thought she glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye, soaring high above her; but when she swiveled her head to get a better look, it was gone . . . like it had never really been there at all.