Chapter Seven

The climb to the backdoor was harder than she had anticipated. Myka was fit and athletic, and could fence you into a corner quicker than you could say 'musketeers', but rock climbing had never been her forte, and it had been made all the harder by her night ascent. And so, flashlight clamped tightly in her teeth, it was with several ripped nails and more than a little bad attitude that she collapsed onto the plateau cut onto the rock face. Discouraging intruders was one thing, but this was downright cruel - there was no way Artie had not played a part in the design of this little doorway.

She had known the location of the back door entrance to the warehouse for some time (unlike some people, she had read the manual), and Pete had filled her in on all the details of his Christmas escapades, so it was with relative speed that she gained access to the internal halls.

The back entrance opened up onto a secondary annex to the warehouse, an interlocking collection of halls and smaller storerooms. It was clear that it had been designed with defence in mind, that should the main warehouse be overrun - whether by hostile force, or hostile

artifact - that the no doubt suffering agents could mount a defence from here. The halls were lined with small armouries complete with teslas, handguns, and a nice supply of neutralising pouches and goo. Over time, however, these neat, well stocked halls had become neglected, all the detritus of the warehouse having come to accumulate along their walls. Out of sight, out of mind, and Myka felt a desperation start to settle in the pit of her stomach; she would not become another facet of the warehouse to be abandoned in these forgotten halls.

There were more winding halls that she would have expected a veritable labyrinth hidden in the mountain and under the main complex. But eventually Myka made it to the Warehouse proper, the emptying of halls a fair indicator that she was entering the living world once more. Reaching the final door, a heavy-set, metal contraption, bolted and sealed Myka took a steadying breath. This is where the real work began she knew. She input her entry code, praying that that too had not changed on her, and dropped her glasses for the retina scan. The grating sound of metal on metal filled the hall as the door creaked open. Hoping beyond hope that no one had heard that, she couldn't help but be grateful that at least the Warehouse knew who she was. Giving the doorway a grateful pat, she offered up a special thanks to the place that had become her home.

Myka knew the Warehouse better than any place she had ever known. And while it was not possible for her to know everything about it (how could she when it was ever changing?), she probably knew it better than anyone had in quite some time. Still, she knew that if anyone would uncover her skulking through it's aisles, it would be Artie. Her mind quickly blocked out the landscape of the Warehouse before her, possible routes to the office laid down like a city transport map. Dismissing them one by one, Myka wheedled it down to the one route that balanced speed with stealth.

Darting through a place like the Warehouse was never a good idea, add in the no small amount of adrenaline she was exuding and all that energy was like a day at the fair for the artifacts. Everywhere she went artifacts lit up or called out, several literally jumping from the shelves into her arms.

"Knock it off!" she growled quietly, wrenching Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's deerstalker cap from her head and replacing it on the shelf. "I missed you too, but you're really not helping!"

The artifacts did quieten down a little after that, but their muffled clatter still followed her every move and Myka's hopes of a surreptitious entry into the office faced with every step. The fact that her hope had held out as long as it had was a miracle and, skidding to a halt before the stairs she felt the last of it disappear.

Helena stood on the landing, watching her with a closed expression. She stared at Myka, unseeing and uncaring, for a few painful moments before slowly descending the stairs, her every moment deliberate.

"I knew you'd be back," she said, her voice controlled and completely void of the sparkle Myka had grown to love. "I knew you wouldn't stay away."

"How could I?" Myka asked. "How could I stay away?"

Helena fixed her with a cold glare. "No, I suppose you couldn't. All these artifacts, you stand to make a fortune on the black market."

"What?" Myka asked. "That's not - I don't -"

"I mean," Helena continued. "Why else kidnap an agent? As long as there have been artifact hunters, there have been those who stole them away in the dead of night. I understand that, I really do - it's all part of the game we play. But you crossed the line. You stole something from me. And that simply cannot be allowed to stand."

Myka gaped at her, at the mess she had found herself in. She was in a face-off with HG Wells about having kidnapped herself? This was a debacle she could never have anticipated.

"Helena," she pleaded. "Helena, I -"

"Do NOT call me Helena," she asserted, her voice firm, but still unnervingly controlled. "I am not your friend. I want nothing to do with you. And you WILL tell me what you have done to Myka."

Myka flung her arms out in frustration. "I have done nothing to Myka, I swear to you! I -"

And that was all she said before Helena's hands, too, flung out, fists making hard contact with Myka's flesh. Helena was bathed in a halo of light as pain filtered through Myka's nerves. As much as she hated this situation, she had to give Helena credit: no one could throw a punch like she could.

Helena's hands and feet flew with a speed Myka could never dream of matching. Thoughts of catching her fists to stop her evaporated as it was all she could do to avoid most of the blows. Between dodges she gasped out Helena's name, trying to persuade her to stop, that she was herself. It only seemed to fuel Helena's anger. Yet for all her frustration, Myka could not be angry herself. She knew that Helena's actions were born from a fear for her own wellbeing. She just wished there was something she could do to convince her.

Distracted momentarily by her own thoughts, Myka faulted and received a glancing, though still powerful, kick to the ribs. She hit the ground, hard, feeling her knees graze through her pants, her wrists buckling under her unexpected weight.

Feeling around for her glasses, Myka looked up at Helena from the floor, marvelling that even now her blurred features were striking. Grey around the edges, no line concrete, the fuzzy Helena fell to her knees beside her.

"Myka...?" Her name fell from Helena's lips breathlessly, all confusion, relief and regret. Helena's hands run up Myka's arms, resting on her shoulders as she stared at her in disbelief. "Myka... how?"