Hey out there, apologies for the delay… back in school and such. BTW most of this chapter's artifact-y stuff is totally made up, so nobody bust me on it please. Bits of it are true, but the overall theory is crap-- and not true. Love to all my readers! …even if you don't review.

P.s. You all should really thank Sun Krux for encouraging me to speed up and post this chapter. Thanks!


And as promised, dinner was wonderful. Bill and Myrna made very gracious hosts, and the agents finally met the enigmatic Mr. D'arcy.

D'arcy was in his late-30's, had shaggy black hair and a charismatic personality. He was, by his own admission, not a very popular writer and said he was "published, though only by independent houses". A former journalist, he wrote news or magazine articles on commission whenever he was having cash-flow problems.

Pete had no vibes about him, even though he was writing a mystery novel set in old Singapore, so he excused himself and his 'lovely wife' before dessert under the pretense of needed rest after a long day. He knew Myka had found a clue on the beach and he was itching see it. They hadn't had any privacy yet because Myrna had whisked them out of the car and into the dining room the second they arrived.

Instead of Myrna, it was Bill who winked significantly at Pete and wished them a 'good night's rest'.

Pete was glad that Myka apparently missed this exchange as he pulled out her chair for her. He had the feeling something like that might damage the platonic physical rapport they'd begun to develop. He liked the way that they were getting along, even if it was mostly a sham. Myka had impressed him today with the cant of her learning curve with regards to undercover work; she could have fooled him if he didn't already know better.

The fact that they got almost all the way up to their room with his hand still gently resting on the small of her back oddly thrilled him, and that thrill might have been worrisome had he not been so tired. If she was being honest, Myka didn't even notice until he had removed his hand to open their door. She inwardly shrugged the thought off as mental fatigue, because she definitely wasn't prepared to accept the thought that she might have subconsciously liked it.

No sooner had they fallen exhausted onto their respective beds-- Myka on her back, and Pete right on his face-- did they hear the persistent buzzing of their trusty lifeline. Pete turned his face from the mattress to look over at Myka, who was now propped up on her elbows throwing a murderous glare at the front pocket on her shoulder bag, which was so frustratingly out of her reach.

He spoke up. "Artie really needs to work on his timing, this makes twice this case that I have been supremely comfortable when he decides to grace us with his expertise."

One side of Myka's lips quirked up in amusement as she watched her partner roll dramatically off the bed, landing with a resounding 'thump' within arms-length of the madly droning Farnsworth. He reached in and fished out the device, but before opening it turned to Myka chuckling at his most recent thought.

"God knows what they thought downstairs when they heard that."

Myka sat up fully, utilizing her best posture when she realized what he was insinuating; she meant to fling a bitingly sarcastic "As if." in his direction, but he'd already flipped open the Farnsworth and greeted their crazy boss.

She interrupted her partner, mid-crappy-it's-cold-in-Michigan-joke, nudging him aside and pushing her way onto the screen. "Artie, I have something important for you. The old bank bill I sent you pictures of… it um, gave off a slight glow when I put it in the containment bag, so I think it's connected to our artifact."

She took it out of her jacket pocket and Pete immediately snatched it from her, being that he hadn't seen it yet. His commentary was hardly effusive. "This is it? It doesn't look like much."

Artie frowned in black and white. "Pete, how many times do I have to tell you how seemingly insignificant things can hold…"

Apparently Pete had been told this very thing many times because he finished Artie's sentence for him. "…immense power. I know, I know."

Their boss raised one eyebrow slightly and then returned to the subject at hand. "Ok, Myka, how slight of a glow are we talking here? A contained or neutralized artifacts' flare can be extremely-- um, variable depending on it's power or contact with a source of power."

She thought for a second, searching through any and all of the artifact surges she'd seen so far during this completely mad re-assignment of theirs. "It wasn't like any I've ever seen. It was so faint that I would have missed it if I hadn't been looking closely-- the paper sort of glowed and then returned to normal."

The curly-haired man adjusted his spectacles and sat back in his creaky chair. "Well then it isn't an artifact, but it has had dealings with one-- You said it glowed? Then it isn't a bifurcated artifact, you know… which is where each item is an artifact in and of itself, but needs the other artifact close by to function. No, what you two are probably dealing with is something like a residual artifact-- something that came into …um, contact, well, extended contact with an artifact of some power and the energy from the original artifact was somehow… transferred to this bill."

Pete decided not to remain left out of the conversation and interjected: "So how are we going to know what is powering up this bill? …And while we're on the subject-- what the heck does this 'larger artifact' even do?

The fuzzy face on the screen disappeared for a second, and then re-appeared with the second largest book Pete had ever seen. He thought for a second that he'd even felt the vibration from the loud 'thump' when Artie deposited the massive volume in front of his Farnsworth.

Opening it to a Post-it noted section he explained: "The local population before immigration of European settlers to that area was the Ottawa tribe. One of whom gave our historical figure, Mr. Wilder, quote: 'a gift of a mystical sort' to help with his gold transportation problem. It is recorded here that the Ottawa considered themselves the most strong-willed and excellent warriors of any tribe of humans."

Myka mumbled. "How humble of them." Artie, of course, heard her.

"Yes, they were an extremely proud and very resourceful people. The important thing here is that they believed strongly in the force of the human mind, and that just by willing something to happen, that, with the right tool or combination of words they could influence nature and even the future.

"Sounds like my grandmother."

Myka smiled at Pete's joke, Artie merely grunted charitably and continued.

"The artifact you are looking for enables someone to exert their will onto inanimate objects. Specifically, willing an object to move, as evidenced by the mayor's car and the mailbox. There is probably some sort of phonetic trigger, probably in the native Ottawa tongue; so when you find a suspect you'll need them to tell you what the 'magic word' is."

"We have three suspects. Two of which we've arranged to speak with tomorrow morning." Myka said professionally.

"Names?" Artie inquired.

Pete recited the names from memory. "Laura Oshea, and cousins Zagisee and Minjim Collins."

Artie held out his answering "Ok…" as long as he could while punching the names into the Warehouse's monster search engine.

"Here we are, Laura Lucy Oshea, daughter of Charles Henry Oshea III and Juliette Lucy Wilder. Age 17, academic record outstanding, but a school psychologist's record of pranks suggesting a deeper need for attention, especially from adults." His voice got lower and less audible as he went on until neither Pete nor Myka could hear him.

"Ok. She looks promising, with her family connection she'd most likely be the one to have found the artifact, and from what I see here…" He said pointing off-screen towards his computer, tapping the monitor twice on top of a mug shot the search had found. "…Minjim, the older cousin is almost certainly our jewel thief; though catching him and retrieving the jewelry is secondary to the recovery of the artifact of course."

"Of course." Pete affirmed.

"Of course." Myka stated hesitantly; she was still getting used to this whole 'recover the artifacts, leave the less mysterious crimes to the local LEO's', thing.

"Alright guys, that's it. Bag and tag tomorrow ok? I want you guys back here before Tuesday at the latest." Artie sat back in his chair, satisfied with the progress that had been made, when his eye caught an illustration in the book on his desk.

Pete saluted into the Farnsworth and closed it, dusting his hands together. "Well that's done." He got up from the floor and offered Myka a helping hand.

She smirked at him as he helped her up. "No kiss this time sweetie?" She intoned as mockingly as she could.

Pete narrowed his eyes. "Mock all you want, but I happen to know more than a few women who would love to be on the receiving end of my undercover stealth moves."

"I'm sure." She said, not quite convinced. "Do you want the bathroom first Pete?"

"Nah. Go ahead."

"Kay."

Myka slept peacefully that night, a rarity for her since Denver. Knowing that her new partner had her back, despite his immaturity, was beginning to give her a sense of overwhelming serenity. This emotion might however, just have resulted from the fact that her bed was extremely comfortable.

She slept peacefully that is, until the Farnsworth awoke them both around 3 am. Pete had left the infernal communication device on the glass-topped coffee table, amplifying the normally irritating trill into a thundering rattle waking them both instantly.

Pete threw his pillow across the room towards the offending noise as Myka turned on her bedside lamp. She made a reproachful face at him as the marshmallow like shape hit the opposite wall, well off target. Once she could think clearly, Myka retrieved the Farnsworth. She opened it, turned it on and was greeted by a slightly worse-for-wear looking Artie.

"So I'm guessing you haven't slept yet."

"Yes, I had a breakthrough and wanted you to have this information before you talk to these kids tomorrow."

Pete had made it over to the couch at this point, leaning in behind Myka to get his face on the screen. "Seriously Artie? Geez, it couldn't have waited until breakfast?"

Artie's voice intensified like the Farnsworth rattling on glass. "NO, it couldn't wait Mr. Lattimer."

Myka leaned back away from the shouting; inwardly smug that Pete had gotten in trouble. As she leaned back though, she suddenly remembered something; Pete was right behind her, and Pete slept shirtless didn't he? Before she could stop it from happening her bare shoulders brushed against the warm skin of his muscled chest.

She gasped slightly and recoiled, and unbidden blush crossing her cheeks. Touching him was not an option. No matter how attractive he was. He's annoying, Myka. Remember? Childish, frustrating and unprofessional. She let out her held breath and the smugness welled back up within her. She'd be fine.

What she didn't see was Pete swallow a smile before apologizing to Artie.

"Ok Artie, I'm sorry, but do you know what time it is?"

"I am well aware, however, there is something you'll need to know tomorrow. The Ottawa tribe upheld certain plants and animals as sacred. The elm tree was one of these sacred plants. They called it 'mashkawendam' which means 'strength of will'. This artifact is made of elm wood, giving it the powers attributed to that tree. From the rough Ottawa that I can translate it was a possession of their great chief Pontiac. There is no illustration, but it says that it has an eagle on it somewhere. My best guess is that it is some sort of container, maybe a box that the bills, plural because I'm assuming there are more of them, were store inside of once the bank was shut down in the 1880's."

Myka was beginning to understand. "So like leaking radiation, the… um, artifact-iness kind of seeped into the paper for over a century?"

Pete was nodding, also apprehending where Artie was going with this. "So the bills now act like mini-artifacts. Alright, so what we know is that it is an elm wood box and that it gives someone the power to move stuff around like that girl from the horror movie who got pig's blood poured on her at prom."

Myka rolled her eyes predictably, but was also remembering how immeasurably terrifying that movie was.

Artie's face contorted slightly, searching through his vast memory for that particular pop-culture reference. "To put it quite broadly, yes. The elm wood native to that area has a light mahogany color, with a golden tint to it. You'll know it when you see it."

Myka was already knee deep in notetaking, filling a page in her little black notebook by the dim light of the one lamp that was on.

Pete took one look at her, scrubbed a palm over his face drowsily and whined: "This is all really really interesting and everything, but can I go back to bed now Artie?"