Chapter 3
Bed and Breakfast
South Dakota
Pete read through the text on his laptop screen, and then turned to a notepad and jotted some information on it. He didn't look up when Myka walked into the atrium and sat with him. She held her cup of tea in both hands, trying to steam the morning sleep out of her system.
"What's all this?" she asked, looking at the scattered print outs, edges of photographs, and several sheets of handwritten notes.
"A project I'm working on." Pete stopped working, looking at her. "Am I being punished for something?"
Her eyebrows lifted. "Like what?"
"Since we got back from Mexico, and Artie got after us about losing that bracelet, have you noticed he hasn't assigned me anything? Not even inventory!"
"Maybe he thinks you need a break, but he hasn't mentioned that he's upset with you about anything."
"Yeah, but he was pretty hot about that bracelet and—"
"Which I also lost and he's been giving me assignment after assignment, so if I were you, I'd stop complaining before I throw this mug at you."
Pete smiled and relented to the threat. She picked up a piece of paper, which was a birth certificate.
"Who the hell names their kid Angus?"
"Someone with a mean streak, I guess."
"Yeah. I'd never name my child that."
Pete smiled.
Both looked at the front door when it slammed open. Claudia and Steve ran in and dropped their bags at the bottom of the stairs.
"We'll pick it up when we get back. Have to go see Artie," Claudia told them and the two raced back out.
"Meep-Meep," Pete said right before the door slammed shut.
Abigail walked into the room carrying a coffee mug and plate with a bagel. She sat down next to Myka. "Who was that?"
"Steve and Claudia, off to find dad," Myka told her.
Abigail smiled. "Can I move some of this?"
Pete reached over and cleared her a spot. "Sorry. Sort of took over in here."
"That's okay. I'll be careful. What is this, anyway?"
"A project I'm working on. You know, I still have access to the NSA database, Mykes."
"Cool. Why is that important?"
"It's not. I just didn't know I still did."
"Am I on a no fly list?" she joked.
Pete just laughed.
Warehouse 13
South Dakota
Artie looked up when Steve and Claudia ran up to him. He was in the middle of arranging artifacts so they wouldn't try zapping each other so much.
"Artie," Claudia panted. "We made the fastest trip home." She swallowed, grabbed a breath and panted on. "We got the coin." She dug the bagged coin out of her jean's back pocket and showed him. "But something really strange happened while we were there. I mean, really super strange."
Steve nodded, adding. "This guy appeared out of nowhere. I mean, literally out of thin air. One minute the guy with the coin was blowing the market up, the next this guy's there."
"He had an artifact?"
"Not that we noticed."
"He could have had in a pocket or been wearing it, or—"
Claudia looked level eyed at Artie. "The man appeared with a toothbrush and in tighty-whities, Artie. Unless he was hiding it up his… You know, or wearing it on his manhood, we are pretty certain he didn't have an artifact on him."
"Okay. Give me details about what happened."
The two retold the story, going back and forth, adding details to the other's story. When they were done, silence followed.
Artie let out a breath and asked, "And he just disappeared mid-sentence?"
"Yeah. He was gone as fast as he appeared."
"You said he told you his name?" Artie asked.
"Emory."
"Where did he say he was from?"
"He only said he was from the United States."
Artie frowned. "There are a lot of artifacts that can transport people places, but all of them have to be worn or held."
"His toothbrush?" Steve asked.
"It was electric," Claudia reminded him.
"So that's out," Artie said. "Claudia, go see if you can find his face. Let's at least know who he is in case we need to find him later."
"On it."
"Steve, that coin needs to be put in the quarantine zone."
"But what about promising to give it to Russia."
"The quarantine zone."
"You're not going to send it to Russia, are you?"
"No."
Steve shook his head. "Artie, I think that's a bad idea."
"Next time I'll ask for your opinion when I want it. Go."
Steve walked away.
Johnny Perano's Apartment
Flushing, New York
It was a stand-off. Myka blocked one exit, Claudia blocked the other, and Johnny Perano, alleged mob hit man, was anxiously standing at the back of the study they'd cornered him in. A kind of sheen flowed from the sword over him, reflecting off like sun off hot pavement in the summer.
"Look, we just want the sword, Johnny," Myka told him. "We aren't here about anything else."
He laughed. "Like I'm going to buy that. I know you're here to take me out."
"For the last time, we are not here to take you out!" Claudia told him. "We just want the sword, you can leave, we can leave, and we can all go have pasta."
Myka and Johnny both looked at her. She smiled and aimed her Tesla gun at him, firing. The ray bounced off the shimmering and right at Myka. She ducked. It flew past her, cutting a hole in the wall behind her. She was on her feet before Johnny could take more than one step toward her, aiming her gun at him.
"You can't shoot me if I'm holding this!" Johnny laughed.
"You know, this is a real déjà vu situation. At any moment now, I'm expecting a tallish guy in his undies and with a toothbrush to appear in front of me," Claudia told Myka.
"How about his clothes and a garden spade instead," someone said behind her.
She turned, staring at Emory. He stood up from being on his knees, dropping the garden spade in hand.
"How… What… Again?"
"I don't know to the first two, and yes. Again."
"Who are you talking to?" Myka asked.
"That strange guy from Iraq."
"What?" Myka asked.
"Who is that?" Emory asked.
"Someone I work with."
"And him?" He looked at Johnny.
"The guy who is going to kill all of you!" Johnny told him with a sneer.
"Oh," Emory said with no emotion.
"Most people would be pooping puppies right now, you know that?" Claudia told him.
"I am not in Iraq, am I?"
"No, you're in Flushing, New York."
"Claudia! We don't have time for this!" Myka told her.
Emory looked past Claudia and sighed. "This got me home last time." Emory pushed past Claudia and stepped into the room. "Let us see if it work twice."
"Sir, you can't—" Myka began
Emory cut her off. "What are you two going to do with the sword once you take it?"
"Take it somewhere safe," Claudia told him.
"Claudia!" Myka scolded.
"Hey. It worked last time. Might work again."
Emory listened to them, waiting for them to stop talking. "That warehouse place?" he asked.
Silence.
"I take this as yes," he said. "It is a safe place. I trust the girl that it is. But first you have to give me the sword." Emory didn't speak for a moment.
"Who is he talking to?" Myka asked.
"I think whoever owned and died with that sword."
"The unknown soldier?" Myka asked.
"Yeah."
Emory nodded. "I can ask." He turned to Myka, starting to speak.
Johnny suddenly ran at Emory, focused on running him through with the sword. At the last minute, before either Claudia or Myka could shoot, Johnny's feet flew out from under him and he landed hard on the floor. The sword flew across the room and embedded itself in the wall that was between the two women. Myka reached out to grab it.
"Do not touch it," Emory told her.
The sword flew out of the wall and made a slice in the air where her abdomen had just been. It stopped in mid-air, ready to charge her. No one moved – three from fear of what they had just witnessed, but one because he saw a soldier in an Australian World War I uniform, who couldn't be more than sixteen or seventeen. He was watching Myka with eyes that told his instincts to use the sword to kill was the difference between life and death.
"Do not kill her," Emory quietly commanded.
The boy's head turned but his poise to attack remained statuesque.
"She is not a threat to you. Do not kill her."
"I want peace!" he told Emory.
"Why have not you moved on then?"
He brandished the sword toward Emory. "It won't let me leave!"
"What if it would? Would you go?"
"Who are you talking to?" Myka demanded.
Emory didn't answer.
"Yes. I want to go."
"Give her the sword, boy. Give her the sword and you can move on."
"Is it Heaven? Am I going to Heaven?"
Emory considered the question. "No, but I am trusting my instincts, and you will go somewhere peaceful."
"I need to know for certain!"
"Do you think I am lying to you?"
The boy thought about the question. The sword lowered.
"Maybe."
Emory walked up to him and took the sword from the boy. The shimmering started to climb across Emory's hand, then recoiled and disappeared back into the sword. Emory didn't seem surprised by it.
"That was strange," the boy told him. "It always claims whoever takes it, traps me her—"
The boy disappeared. Emory followed, and the sword clattering to the floor.
Claudia didn't stop Johnny from running out of the apartment. She and Myka both walked up to the sword, staring at it.
"That just happened, right? That guy, he just talked to the sword, grabbed it, and then disappeared, right?" Myka asked Claudia.
"Yeah. He seems to be really good at doing that, so far."
"Do you think it's an artifact?"
"Maybe. But why? He's, like, I dunno, talking artifacts down from the ledge or something, and then just leaving them. How does that make sense?"
Myka crouched down and picked up the sword with her gloved hands.
"It doesn't. Let's bag it and go. Pete is going to wish he'd been here for this one."
"And Artie." Claudia pulled a long bag from her back pocket and unfolded it.
J.P Morgan, Chase Branch
Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania
Lance Trent hacked through the vault door with his pick axe as if the metal was made of butter. Through each stroke the metal glowed red hot which faded fast. With each stroke a breath was stolen from him, a little more of his life evaporating on it. He didn't hear Steve and Myka walk up behind him, both with guns aimed at him.
"Put down the axe, Trent," Steve ordered.
Trent didn't. He kept hacking away.
"Trent, put the pick axe down."
He shook his head. "They aren't stealing our house."
"Look, we get it. We know why you've been robbing all these banks. But Trent, your wife is in the hospital alone. Your house is just a possession, she needs you."
He paused, wiping sweat off his brow.
"I promised her I would give her a home when she told me she was pregnant. That was four pregnancies ago. And now this, now cancer."
"Trent, if they caught in time, she has a great chance of surviving," Myka told him, "but in order for her to fight this, she needs you. That axe is killing you. It wants you to pay for what you're doing because it's wrong."
Trent turned just as Emory appeared between him and Steve and Myka. Emory had his hands on a shopping cart half filled with groceries.
"Not again," Emory stoically said.
Steve and Myka didn't move. Trent brought the axe down on the cart, slicing part of it in half. Then he took another aim and started to bring it down. The swing froze half way, dangerously close to Emory's head. Emory let the cart go and took two steps back, coming even with Myka and Steve.
"Who is he?" Emory asked them.
"Lance Trent," Steve answered. "Why are you here again?"
"You tell me. This is the second time I have transported where both of you were and something strange was happening and there was a very angry young man involved."
"Trent doesn't want to lose his house," Myka explained, "and his wife has cancer."
"I wasn't talking about Trent."
Steve and Myka exchanged a glance. Emory stepped forward once.
"What is the problem?" he asked.
Standing behind Trent was a tall boy, eighteen, maybe twenty. He was slender with auburn hair that was almost red. His clothes were ragged, dating to the 1800s. He had seen a lot of hard work in his life.
"This man is robbin' banks," the boy told him. He had a strong Irish accent.
"I see. And what did he have against the cart there?" Emory asked, pointing at it.
All eyes were drawn to the pool of milk and orange juice that had formed on the floor, sugar piled under the card, and eggs slowly oozing down toward the mess.
"I didn't tell 'im to do that," the boy said. "It's me pick axe. Sometimes it d'nt listen to me."
"Seems to be a trend." Emory looked at the axe. "Does it talk to you?"
"That would be looney."
He looked up at the boy. "As looney as a living man talking to a dead man?"
The boy shrugged, sliding his hands in his trouser pockets. "Sometimes she does talk to me. She tells me what she's going to do."
"Does she tell you not to move on?"
He nodded.
"What's your name?"
"John Ruddy."
"I am Emory."
"That's a good name."
"Thank you. John Ruddy is also."
"Who are you talking to?" Trent demanded.
"The person who really owns that pick axe," Emory answered. "The person who died with it and does not like how you are using it."
Trent was speechless.
Rudy chuckled. "Ya got 'im on the run now. Tell him I'm going to claim his soul and drag him to hell. Tell 'em."
"John says he is going to claim your soul and drag it to hell if you do not hand that pick axe over."
Trent looked up at him. Emory saw the change from confusion switch to anger. He lifted the axe to swing at Emory, but he couldn't swing it back. Emory had watched John step up behind Trent and grab the axe at the base of the pick. He held onto it, preventing Trent from moving the pick axe.
He leaned close to Trent and whispered in his ear, "Let go of me axe, or I'll drag yer soul to hell when I go."
They all heard the whisper, but only Trent understood it. He let the axe go and sprinted out of the bank vault room. The pick axe dropped to the floor with a clatter. Emory stared at it a moment. He was aware that John Ruddy now stood next to him.
"She doesn't really talk to me, does she?"
"The pick axe?"
"Aye."
"I doubt it. It is just a pick axe, after all." Emory looked up at him. "Is that why you did not move on?"
"No. I have to go home and finish some business, but that thing was keeping me here. Still is."
"These people will take care of that for you." He glanced back at Steve and Myka. "Finish your business and move on."
John looked at him. His eyes shone with all light, almost silver. "Is it nice where we go next?"
"I do not know. I never get time to ask."
John disappeared. Emory turned to speak to Myka and Steve, and disappeared himself.
"Damn it!" Myka blurted out.
Steve stared at her. She sighed.
"Sorry. I'm just… Who is this guy?"
"I was here with you. I know as much as you do," Steve told her.
"Yeah. But you saw him first."
"And he did the whole appearing and disappearing act then, also."
Myka walked over to the cart and started looking at it.
"What are you looking for?"
"Something that will tell me where this came from."
Steve started searching the untouched groceries in the cart. "Guy shops like he's a bachelor."
"That's a clue," she told him. "Wait." She looked up at him. "How does a bachelor shop?"
"Steaks, frozen dinners, your basics. Not a lot that takes much time to cook."
She went back to her search. Steve finished and stepped back. She finally stopped, staring at the cart.
"Nothing?" he asked.
She shook his head.
"Well, on the bright side, we have the Duffy Cut pick axe, and no one died this time."
"Lovely," she stood up. "And we still have some guy showing up talking to artifacts that listen to him."
"Is he?"
"Is he what?"
"Talking to artifacts? I kind of got the impression both times that he was talking to something, or someone, else."
"Like a ghost?"
"Or something else, yes."
She shook her head. "I don't know, Steve. Grab the axe, will ya?"
Steve pulled on gloves and picked it up. The two headed out of the bank.
"Pete has been whining about this you know," Steve told her.
"I know. I know. He wants to meet this guy – he's more anxious to meet him than we are, I think."
"Maybe next time, I guess."
