X

"Oh shit, he must be kidding."

Claudia looked up to Eric, seated at his desk.

"What?"

"Artie sent me an email. He found Arthur & Morgana's ticket back."

"Cool! I mean, that's good news, no?"

"Yes; and no. Believe it or not, the Grail is the key. The catch is: MacPherson took it from the Warehouse at the same time that the Phoenix and the Sabre …"

"Yeah, yeah, I got the picture."

She didn't like talking about MacPherson. It's because of MacPherson she had spent years without her brother. And he had nearly ruined her life again after she got Joshua back from his non-existence. If it had not been for Pete and Myka… Claudia bit fiercely in her cookie.

"What else did Artie said?"

"Not much. The Grail is the key. James took it. Need to check something. Chat later."

"Figured."

Artie Nielsen's definition of collaboration was limited. He gave very little pieces of information, and ran into trouble all by himself. Claudia finished her biscuit. She knew the rush of sugar was going to kill her night, but she took another one anyway. She sat down, to get up a second later.

"So what do we do?"

"Wait, I suppose. And try to keep those two out of more trouble."

"What can be worse than discovering your future sucks?"

Eric yawned.

"Save the philosophy for tomorrow, okay? I'm calling it a night."

"I'll use your computer if you don't mind."

"No Problem. Night."

"Good night Eric."

He kissed the top of her head, and left.

Claudia took his chair in front of the computer, stretching her fingers in front of her. Despite her funky looks and neverending mouth, she was a genius. She was a natural with technology and a computer wizard. Her train of thought might appear completely random, but she could find out a needle in the overgrown straw of the databases in no time, adding some inputs from less public systems in the process. Artie was going to need her, if he was to find MacPherson's next treasure chest. She started to work.

First she ran a general background on the artefact, to know exactly what they were dealing with. She went through the official stuff, Percival tales and the like, then dig deeper into more esoteric hypothesis, from the Mary Magdalene theory to a Stargate SG-1 fantasy. At 2 am, she considered herself an expert. It was time to call Artie, and collect the bits of info the unusual sources of the Warehouse could have. If he was willing to share, that is. She got up and twisted her neck to make the bones crack. She needed caffeine and more sugar before she faced her boss.

Morgana was seated in the kitchen in front of a glass of milk. She jolted when the door opened.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. What's up?"

"I couldn't sleep."

Claudia put the coffee machine on for a full pot. Her friend looked sad.

"You should talk to him, you know."

She didn't need to say whom she was referring to. Morgana shook her head.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Morgana didn't answer right away. They'd been together most of their lives. They were childhood best friends, teen contestants; they had shared stolen treats, laughs, and punishments, and never stopped teasing each other along the way. Arthur had been her first escort to a ball, and she had supported him on his knighting. Both pretended they didn't care, even she wasn't kidding anyone. He had always been there for her. She understood what he faced as the Crown Prince of Camelot. How was she to explain to him she could not be a part of his future? That the most difficult steps of his life, he would face on his own?

Claudia poured herself a full cup of coffee.

"I know you have those rules of courtship back in your time, tokens and all, but it's overrated if you ask me. You love him he loves you just get married and have a lot of little Arthurs and Morganas running around."

"It's not that simple."

"Of course it is."

Morgana gave her a mournful smile.

"You told us, Claudia. I am nowhere in the story of his kingship, or I'm a treat. And I don't want to be a menace for him. I don't want to see him marry my maid who doesn't know what a fine heart she is going to break."

Claudia frowned, and then sighed. Comforting people really wasn't her thing. Morgana preferred changing the subject.

"You didn't tell me why you're still up."

"Well, I'm not sure now if that's good news of not, but we know how to send you back. We need to find the Grail; I'm working on that."

"The Grail? The magic cup that Eric told us about?"

"The very same. I made a little research, and now I need to call my boss. It's only 8 pm in the US, so…"

"What is a boss?"

"This, my dear Morgana, is something you really don't want to know…"

Artie Nielsen was a bit more receptive than usual. You would never believe what a near-death experience could do to a man's psyche. He had nothing to add to Claudia own findings, except maybe the user's manual. Apparently, anyone who looked into the Holy Chalice was automatically transported to where they belonged. Literally. J.K. Rowling had used the idea for the portkeys in her best-sellers.

As for MacPherson caches' location, they had no clue. He had been in Rome, in Montreal, in Washington, in Berlin, and of course in South Dakota. Their nemesis could have hidden the artifact anywhere. And he was still at large, which meant that maybe, just maybe, they were to run into him while looking for it. Their last encounter had been less than friendly.

Claudia gave it a thought. MacPherson was continuously on the moves. He could hardly travel with a lot of objects with him; it would raise suspicion. He had to have a cache somewhere, a place to which he returned to pick up what he wanted to use or sell. She didn't really need Artie's authorization to access MacPherson's personal file, but she did ask. Reluctant at first, Artie finally agreed to send the file, under the express condition that she reported any idea to him before rushing headlong into something. Trust was a two-sided thing. You gave some, you received some. They had both learned that the hard way.

When Eric came down the following morning, Claudia was sleeping on the couch. His computer had apparently survived through one of her impossible home-made software, some kind of tracking program. Now a complex web was covering a world map, with one yellow point blinking. He put a blanket over her, and called Joshua to let him know what his genial baby-sister had done overnight; then he sent an email to the Warehouse agents. Claudia might be a brilliant techno-wiz, she was still a nineteen-year old girl; dealing with whatever traps MacPherson had left behind him required the skills of trained agents.

Then he climbed the stairs up to talk to Arthur.