Belief & Betrayal Chapter 11

[grumpybear1031]

+ Title: Belief & Betrayal
+ Authors: grumpybear1031  and shaych_03 
+ Fandom: Warehouse 13
+ Pairing: H.G./Myka
+ Notes: Ladies lovin’ ladies ahead… and angst, and action, and well, just read it – we promise you a happy ending. Takes place where 2X12 Reset leaves off, possible spoilers for both seasons. Some liberties taken with certain events, as we don't have actual dates for H.G.'s bronzing etc...  We are finally finished and doing a second round of edits...whooo hooo.
+ Rating: We'll play it safe and say R throughout NC-17 Chapters will be clearly marked.
+ Disclaimer: Warehouse 13 and it's characters belongs to Syfy. We're just borrowing them for a while and promise to give them back.
Thanks to taterc  for help with a quick beta.

Author's Note: Shay, I hope you can forgive me for dragging you into this mess. My obsession with H.G. Wells blinded me, and a need to correct the total mess that was “Reset” kind of made me crazy. I'm not much of a writer so your help in getting this from inside my head to down on paper is very much appreciated. I'd also like to say a big thanks todarandkerry  for being an amazing beta. Your suggestions and punctuation help are invaluable.

Author's Note: Jen, you may have dragged me into watching Warehouse 13 kicking and screaming, but I've had more fun working on this story with you than I have in a long time. Your ideas are great; you have a natural ability to kick start my muse and keep her chugging along happily. Should I even bother to mention how good you are at calling me on BS characterizations or reinterpreting the sometimes cornball melodrama that my muse creates? Anyway, I'm glad you got me into this. I would also like to add my thanks todarandkerry , for her spot on beta skills. I hope we didn't kill you with all the missing commas.

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CHAPTER 1  CHAPTER 2  CHAPTER 3 & 4  CHAPTER 5  CHAPTER 6  CHAPTER 7  CHAPTER 8  CHAPTER 9  CHAPTER 10


CHAPTER 11

The first twenty minutes of the trip were spent in utter silence as Artie huddled on his side of the car and stared out at the road ahead, glowering at each vehicle that stood between them and their destination. Every time Pete ventured to make a comment, Artie would glance at him as if he were a particularly nasty substance he'd just scraped off his boots.

By the half hour mark, Pete began to feel like he was twelve years old and had just gotten caught peeking up Cindy Forrester's skirt. When a full hour had passed, he was sweating bullets and finally blurted, "All right, we should have told you immediately. In our defense, Mrs. F did tell us to look into it first."

Artie just took off his glasses, cleaned them, and then rubbed his eyes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he growled, "After almost two years of working together, I shouldn't have to say this: if it has anything, anything to do with the warehouse, you are to notify me immediately. I don't care if I'm on my deathbed. It's my job to handle these things."

Knowing that he shouldn't ask, but not able to hold back, Pete said, "Don't you trust me to handle my job? I would have brought you up to speed just as soon as I had any real information - just like I did."

"Of course I trust you to do your job. However, it is not your job to determine who is friend or foe when it comes to the warehouse and the artifacts we collect. I'm the one with the experience, I'll be the one to decide if someone is guilty. In this case, the evidence is clear: Myka is no longer a friend. If you can't deal with that, then you need to let me know."

With a sigh, Pete said, "See, Artie, that's your problem - you don't listen. I never said that I believe Myka is totally innocent, however, I just can't believe that she'd willingly betray us. I've got this feeling that there's more going on here than we think. We don't know her motivations - heck, we don't even know how H.G. managed to cause that accident! Why can't you just give people the benefit of the doubt, instead of instantly believing the worst about them?"

"Because every time I've done that, I've gotten stabbed in the back! But you know what, we'll try it your way. Myka's the sweet, innocent Good Samaritan who just happened to have stumbled across a fugitive and, out of the goodness of her heart, decided to help her escape justice. Yes, let's entertain that fairytale. It should be an amusing distraction while we wait for the other shoe to drop!" Artie crossed his arms, wincing as the motion aggravated the gunshot wound in his shoulder, and returned to staring morosely at the highway.

"So that's it then? You're just going to sit there and pretend that Myka has never risked her ass to save yours - hell, she saved the whole world two days ago, and I bet you didn't even say thank you. Hasn't she earned even a little trust from you, Artie?" Angry now, Pete found himself wishing he'd never even bothered to tell the other man about what the spectrometer had revealed. Sure, holding back might have bitten him in the ass if he'd been wrong, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that things weren't as dire when it came to Myka's involvement as Artie wanted to believe.

"I don't give my trust away for nothing," Artie gruffly replied. "I've had my suspicions about Agent Bering's loyalties for a while now. I'm sorry; I should have said something. Perhaps then you wouldn't be so easily fooled by this seemingly innocent behavior."

Slamming on the brakes, Pete turned and gaped at Artie. "What? What do you mean, you've had your suspicions? This is Myka we're talking about, Artie. Not Mata Hari.”

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Pete. Your job is to take orders. Snag 'em, bag 'em, and tag 'em. In this case, you are going to get us to that truck stop in a timely fashion so we can stop H.G. and Myka before they try to destroy the world - or worse!"

Pete looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but one glance at Artie's determined expression forced him to stoically mutter, "Yes, sir."

The remainder of the trip was spent, again, in silence.

Arriving in Cottonwood, they spotted Myka's rental car in the parking lot of the motel. Cautiously, they approached the vehicle and, after ascertaining that it was empty, they headed directly for the manager's office. A little cajoling combined with the flashing of Pete's Secret Service credentials produced information that a woman matching Myka's description had rented a room, but had checked out early that morning.

Still, they took the opportunity to examine the room, which had yet to be cleaned. Inside, they found evidence that someone had been injured. Bloody towels, gauze, bandage wrapping, and a blood soaked blouse were shoved into the trash next to the bed.

Holding up the garment, Pete said, "Looks like H.G. got hurt in the crash."

"And how do you figure that, Sherlock?" Artie was rooting around in his bag, looking at and discarding several objects before he withdrew a simple, hand-held magnifying glass.

"Myka's shirt was blue cotton; H.G. had on white linen. It looked expensive, like this," he said, indicating the designer label on the inside of the blouse. "Myka wouldn't spend that kind of money for something as ordinary as work clothes."

"Be that as it may, I'd still prefer to be certain. If H.G. is injured, it will slow them down and prove that Myka is colluding with her." Artie sounded almost pleased with the prospect.

Raising the magnifying glass, he reached for the blouse. "Hold that up for me, would you?"

Doing as he was asked, Pete gamely displayed the garment for Artie's perusal. "What's that? Conan Doyle's favorite lens?"

"Not quite. It belonged to a forensic scientist named Edmond Locard. I'm hoping it'll show me who the blood belongs to."

"How's it work?" Curious now, Pete held the blouse away from his body, but moved in next to Artie and tilted his head as he tried to get a glimpse through the lens.

"It's quite ingenious, actually. You see, Locard postulated that, 'every contact leaves a trace', and in this case, that would be this!" Gingerly, he angled the lens toward Pete to display what had already begun to be revealed and, to Pete's obvious amazement, inside the garment, an image was forming. Hazy and made up of millions of tiny dust motes, the picture taking shape materialized into that of H.G., wincing in pain as blood leaked from a wound on her forehead.

"Whoa, that's so cool! Every cop should have one of these!"

"Well there's only one, and it belongs to the warehouse," snapped Artie. "All right, so H.G. is injured. Now do you believe that Myka's guilty?"

Looking uncomfortable, Pete replied, "I don't know, Artie. I mean, sure, she's gone way above and beyond simply rendering assistance, but still - maybe she didn't want to get regular authorities involved? After all, H.G. is a warehouse issue, right?

"Then why didn't she call? I'm sure she still has your phone number? Why can't we get a hold of her? I know Claudia's been trying all night, and what? Nothing. She's avoiding us, Pete, and that tells me everything I need to know. She's guilty." As much as Artie wanted to let Pete's feelings affect his judgment, the hard learned lessons of the past kept him from latching on to anything positive. Nothing mattered beyond what he could see and verify; not Myka's heroics, not Pete's vibes, and not even his own paternal desire to believe in his agent.

"I don't know. Maybe her battery is dead. Maybe she knows something we don't. I don't know, that's the thing. Until I know for sure Myka's evil, I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt!" With that, he thrust H.G.'s bloody blouse at Artie and stormed out of the room.

Sighing regretfully, Artie shoved the article of clothing into his bag. He remembered being that young once. Softly, he muttered, "I used to be just like you, Pete. Then I grew up. You'll have to, too, someday. I just hope you don't end up with as many scars as I have."

Outside, Pete looked around the truck stop, trying to think like his partner. Spotting a nearby diner, he grinned. "Everybody's gotta eat."

"Good idea. Let's go check it out," said Artie as he closed the door to the motel room behind him.

"Yeah? Great! I'm starving." Pete jauntily set off toward the diner.

"Food? You're thinking about food when there are two very dangerous individuals running around loose? We don't sleep. We don't eat. We don't even stop to pee until they're safely locked up in the Bronze sector!"

"Maybe you can go all Terminator and ignore things like exhaustion, hunger, and nature, but I'm just a regular human being, and my belly needs to be filled in order for me to operate at peak efficiency. I'm getting a burger with all the trimmings. If you're nice to me, I might let you have a fry."

Pete was determined not to let Artie's foul mood get in the way of what he considered his investigation. Mrs. Fredric had trusted him to handle it from the get-go and he was beginning to understand why. When it came to H.G. Wells, Artie reacted like a bull to a red flag. Pete didn't understand it; maybe it was because of the MacPherson angle, but sometimes, he had to wonder. Why was Artie so dead certain that H.G. was evil incarnate?  In the beginning, Pete could understand his boss' reticence to accept H.G.'s good intentions, but up until the events inside Warehouse 2, H.G. had done nothing but prove her loyalty to all things warehouse related. It was strange, and strange things tended to make Pete's gut ache. He had a strong vibe, and the longer he worked this case, the more intense it became.

The diner was a typical greasy spoon. Locals occupied well worn seats at the counter while travelers filled up the booths. They were greeted by a middle-aged woman whose nonchalant demeanor bore the stamp of many years of work around rough and tumble truckers. The tag on her uniform top declared her name to be Gladys.

Pouring on the charm, Pete smiled at the woman and said, "Hi there, we were wondering if you might help us out?"

"Are you lost honey? Just give me a second and I'll get the map," replied the waitress as she turned to reach for something under the cash register.

"No, actually, we're looking for someone - two people. They'd be traveling together - a couple of women. One is about this tall -" He held his hand just about even with his own head. "The other is a bit shorter. Oh wait, here," he said, grinning goofily as he pulled out his cell and thumbed through the pictures stored in the memory. In one of them, he was standing between Myka and H.G. The shape of a pyramid could be faintly seen behind the trio.

Gladys took one look at the image and yelled, "Martin, get out here!"

At the far end of the diner, a pair of double doors swished open, revealing a massive mountain of a man.

“You need somethin’?” he drawled slowly as he eyed the strange men standing next to the waitress.

“These boys are looking for these women,” said Gladys as she indicated Pete’s phone. For some reason, she had put a particularly odd inflection on the word boys. “Why don't you go on ahead and give 'em the kind of help they need?"

Smiling smugly, Artie turned to face the approaching man while Pete extended his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Pete."

Martin took Pete's hand in his and shook it slowly, crushing it in his massive grip until Pete's cheerful smile began to falter. "Howdy. Welcome to Cottonwood, Pete. I hear you're lookin' for a couple of real nice ladies. I am sorry to say that you will not find them in this place, and honestly mister, I'd just take your old man and turn around and go back where you came from. Consider it a life lesson, son. Next time you pick up a bottle, remember what you lost." He spoke slowly, as if talking down to a very small, slow-minded child.

As Martin continued to crush Pete's hand, several of the regulars turned to watch the proceedings. Most wore similarly disdainful expressions. One called out, "What kind of a man beats a woman as pretty as that?"

Another responded, "Yeah, I sure as hell wouldn't be spending my time inside of a bottle with a woman like that to keep me busy!"

With one sharp tug, Pete managed to reclaim his mangled hand. "I think you may have me mistaken for someone else. My name is Pete Lattimer and I'm -"

"Son," interjected Martin menacingly, "Do you think I'm a blind man?"

"Why, no," Pete spluttered. "Of course not."

"Then do me a favor and don't play games. We both know why you're after them women, and I'm sorry, but even if I have to call the sheriff, I will make certain that you turn your ass around and march right out that door."

"Oh for heaven's sake. Now I know why the general IQ of this nation has sunk so rapidly. You're all idiots!" Artie thrust his way forward. "I am not this man's father and neither of those women have ever been married to him. They are fugitives!"

"Of course you'd say that, you're probably just as bad as your son," said Gladys as she reached for a nearby phone. "Now get out of here!"

"Pete, now would be a good time for you to show them your credentials," Artie muttered softly.

"Already ahead of you," Pete replied as he reached for his jacket.

Martin, spotting the movement, had had enough. "The lady told you to leave. As the owner of this establishment, I am exercising my right to refuse you service. Let's take out the trash, boys."

Somehow, between Martin's last word and Pete's hastily babbled, "Wait, wait, wait," the two warehouse agents found themselves bum rushed out the door. Once outside, they were surrounded by half a dozen very angry, very large men. One of them began to crack his knuckles.

"Now, you gonna go peaceably, or should I let Jimmy practice his WWF skills on your wife beatin' asses?" The man cracking his knuckles grinned in anticipation.

Pete tried reason one last time. "I really do think you're making a mistake -"

"Oh forget it, Pete. It's obvious that we're in Caveman County here. You're going to need to use words of one syllable or less in order for these hairless apes to understand you."

Wincing at the grumbles of anger coming from the men, Pete murmured, “Hey, you want to tone it down a little there, Artie? We're just looking for information, not a fight.”

“No, I will not tone it down! If these people know what's good for them, they'll tell us what we want to know before they get into real trouble.”

“Artie, please, just let me handle this!” Pete tried to smile reassuringly even as the men that were circled around them took a step closer.

“Why? Your way is what got us here in the first place!” Artie glared at the men. “If any of you have any brains at all, you'll tell us where they went; otherwise, I'll be forced to treat you like the brainless yokels you are.”

The first punch knocked Artie's glasses so far across the pavement that they landed at the feet of one of their attackers who took seemingly vicious pleasure in stomping them into the concrete.

"Oh, were these yours?" he said as he picked up the twisted remains. "So sorry. I must have tripped. I'm sure you understand."

On his knees, Artie looked up in time to see the second punch that knocked him flat.

Meanwhile, as Pete watched Artie go down, he tried to back away and ended up stumbling into one of the men. The contact set off a flurry of blows. It was an almost even match - Pete's skill at hand-to-hand combat kept him from suffering the same fate as Artie, but there were too many for him to successfully hold off long enough to pull out his credentials.

"You know," said Pete as he dodged a kick and landed a solid punch to an attacker's gut, "I realize Artie's not the friendliest guy on the planet, but you have to understand, he's under a lot of pressure." Throwing aside a trucker who was a good six inches taller, Pete took the few precious seconds of breathing space to take in great heaving gasps of air.

Martin snorted and said, "Do you think we really care about that, boy? Your old man might think we're idiots, but we do know right from wrong, and what you did to your wife was wrong."

"Yeah," one of the men said. "I saw her arm all bandaged up. What'd you do, try to rip it off? Ain't you man enough to let a lady say no every once in a while?"

"What? No! Yes! I mean, I am not married to her. I'm not married at all, see?" Pete held up his left hand, displaying the absence of a wedding ring.

That threw the men a little. Every one of them wore some kind of ring - even Martin, who actually stopped to fondle the inexpensive silver band encircling his left ring finger.

"That's right. She wasn't my wife. They lied to you. Now, I'm going to reach into my pocket and show you my credentials." Slowly, Pete worked his way over to Artie's side while at the same time sliding his hand inside his jacket. Flipping open the case that revealed his status as an agent of the Secret Service, Pete said, "Now, how about we get some ice for my fellow agent and hear about these two women?"

Later, after being plied with some of the best homemade apple pie he'd ever eaten, Pete relayed what they'd learned to Claudia. "They were here.” Briefly, he outlined the ruckus that had left Artie with two black eyes and an equally surly mood. “No, he's going to be all right. Anyway, they bought a minivan from the waitress, a Gladys Johnston. Plate's E837ZZ2. No, they didn't say where they were going. You find anything? Oh. Yeah, I guess that would take some time. Well, when you know something, give me a call."

Outside the car, Artie was ranting at Mrs. Fredric.

"I know we're not supposed to involve other agencies, but if we have an APB put out on the van, we'll catch them by tonight."

"I appreciate your desire to handle this matter quickly, however, it is the mandate of the regents that we not involve any local authorities in the apprehension of Agent Bering and Ms. Wells," replied Mrs. Fredric.

"That pack of spineless toadies wouldn't know a dangerous situation if it crawled up their asses and -"

"As amusing as your colorful anecdote might be, Agent Nielsen, I am bound to follow the dictates of the regents. Adwin Kosan was very clear in his wishes, and so we shall follow them until otherwise informed." The Farnsworth screen went blank.

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Artie muttered, "Fools. I am surrounded by gullible, incompetent fools!"

Getting into the car, he snapped, "Tell Claudia to go through every second of video footage she can find from here to the Canadian border. They're out there somewhere and I will not let them escape!"

Pete relayed the request. "She heard you. Oh, and she said not to forget to take your medication with food. Something about it causing severe indigestion otherwise."

Artie grunted, but did at least reach into his pocket and pull out a couple of pills. After dry swallowing them, he said, "Remind her that finding them is top priority. Whatever wild goose chase Mrs. Fredric has her on can wait."

In a fair approximation of Claudia's exasperated tones, Pete said, "Yes, Artie, I know, Artie. I'm on it, so just keep your shirt on, k?"

"Thank you. Finally, someone around here who listens to my orders!" Rooting around in his bag, Artie withdrew a case containing his backup glasses.

"Hey! I listen, too! I just don't always think your orders make sense."

Pete said goodbye to Claudia and then waited for Artie's inevitable response.

But this time, no lecture about who had the better skill set or experience was forthcoming. Instead, Artie just looked at him for a long, quiet moment before finally speaking. "So, you still think she's innocent?"

Pete winced. It was really tough to look at his boss and be confronted with the two rapidly darkening bruises on Artie's face. After what they'd learned from the people at the diner, Pete was beginning to wonder if this was one of the rare times when his "vibes" were wrong.

Unable to bring himself to completely condemn Myka, even after so much evidence to the contrary, Pete shrugged and said, "I don't know. It doesn't look good, I guess."

Seeming satisfied with Pete's answer, Artie turned and gazed out of the front window. "Head to the highway. Obviously, they aren't going to go back to the warehouse, so let's assume they're going in the opposite direction for now."

"Right. Hopefully, Claudia will have something for us soon."

As he drove them toward the freeway, Pete said, "You know, at least we have a little more information. We know for sure it's just H.G. who's injured, and from the way those guys were talking about it, she's not going to be pulling a Lara Croft on any artifacts anytime soon."

"That doesn't mean she won't be able to get Myka to do her dirty work. You just keep driving, Pete. Let me do the thinking, okay?" Artie closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door frame. Betrayal hurt so much, even when he was expecting it. Maybe he'd retire after this. Pete and Claudia were a good team. They'd take care of his warehouse. He should just step back and leave the tough stuff to the young people. Snorting softly, he knew that even if he were at death's door, he'd never give up his position at the warehouse.

**

"Come on you little bastard, just a little bit more and I'll have you right where I want you," Claudia growled as she typed furiously. Just about ten minutes before Pete's latest phone call, she'd stumbled upon something in one of the printed financial records. As a matter of protocol, the warehouse's daily computer logs were automatically printed and stored, and on a hunch, Claudia had grabbed the boxes containing the records for the week leading up to the incident with Warehouse 2. One document had stood out above the others, and the information it contained had sent her looking to confirm it in the computer archives. However, instead of finding a matching entry, she'd come up with a big, blank space.

Since the printed document held an actual date and login time for when the warehouse accounts had been hacked, Claudia wanted to see if it matched the one in the files they'd looked at a few days ago.

Now she was looking from the hard copy to the digital version and back again. "Well I'll be damned." The hard copy was clear as a bell - if the date on it were to be trusted, and Claudia saw no reason why it shouldn't be, then the money that had been used to pay the archeology students had been withdrawn from the warehouse accounts on the very same day that they'd sent Pete and Myka's consciousnesses back in time.

"And that means that H.G. was practically never alone. In fact, I think I remember watching her right about this same time," Claudia muttered as she chewed on the end of a pencil. Thinking hard, she called up the memory of that day and, exactly as she'd thought, she clearly recalled H.G. standing next to Myka, looking down at the agent with an expression that could only have been described as longing on her face. "H.G. didn't transfer that money," she whispered softly.

"I had suspected that was the case," said Mrs. Fredric.

Claudia nearly jumped right out of her skin. Spinning around, she squeaked, "Mrs. F! I - you didn't say you were coming?"

"I know. Now, you mentioned something about H.G. not having transferred the money? Do go on."

Flustered, Claudia said, "Well, I was doing like you asked, and going over the reports, and I noticed something in the hard copy." She held out the document and indicated the date and time stamp. "This isn't in the system's archived records. I went to look for it and it wasn't there. Someone deleted it. Anyway, when we were hot on H.G.'s trail, it never even occurred to me to check the login dates. If I had, maybe we wouldn't be where we are now."

"And why is that?" Mrs. Fredric raised one sculpted eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"Because H.G. couldn't possibly have transferred the money and been standing right in front of me, making sure Pete and Myka's brains didn't get scrambled by the time machine!" Standing, Claudia began pacing and gesticulating wildly. "In fact, now that I really think about it, I seriously doubt H.G. has the skills to hack the warehouse accounts. It took me weeks just to get a foot in the door, and I had help." As much as she hated reminding the stern caretaker of past indiscretions, Claudia was on a trail she couldn't ignore.

"You might not be wrong, Miss Donovan. Good work." Claudia's discoveries coincided with several long held suspicions that Mrs. Fredric had been unable to voice. Though she'd had no concrete proof, the caretaker's intuition told her that there were deeper troubles afoot, and that the events involving Warehouse 2 were only the most recent iteration of an ages-old struggle.

Beaming, Claudia said, "Oh, it was nothing. But now I have to start looking through hours of video for the van Myka and H.G. are in." She sighed. "Maybe I should make popcorn first."

"Belay that. I'll take care of it. You continue on the path you're on." Mrs. Fredric turned to leave, but stopped and then glanced back at Claudia, who looked fit to burst.

"Yes? Is there something else?"

Grimacing and bouncing in place, Claudia moaned "Oh, I don't know. Mrs. F, I really love my job here, you know that right?"

"Yes, please do get to the point, Miss Donovan."

"Well, would it hurt my position here if I were to admit to knowing more than I've said?" She looked so pathetically worried that Mrs. Fredric took a step toward her.

"Claudia, if you know something that could help determine what's going on, then you should tell me."

Sighing, Claudia slumped into a chair and murmured, "Myka called me earlier. Like, a lot earlier. I kind of helped them by not telling anyone."

Only momentarily taken aback, Mrs. Fredric calmly said, "I imagine you had your reasons. I'd appreciate it if you would share them with me."

In as few words as she could, Claudia related what Myka had told her about the accident, finding H.G. and the eventual discovery of the Pearl of Wisdom. "So, I was going to check the inventory to see if it was here, but I haven't had time, and now you're here so I thought I'd just ask you," she finished in a rush.

"All right; ask me."

Caught flat footed by Mrs. Fredric's calm acceptance of her actions, Claudia blinked and stammered, "Well, I - just what does the Pearl do, exactly? Could it have caused H.G. to go all evil and stuff?" She frowned and added, "And just how did someone get a hold of it, anyway? Isn't it here, in the warehouse? Or is it one of those 'more than one' things, like the Corsican vests?"

"Without divulging things that you are not prepared to understand, I can confirm that the Pearl could, indeed, be responsible for Agent Wells' recent betrayal." Mrs. Fredric's eyes narrowed and very quietly, so softly that Claudia wasn't even sure she really heard it, she added, "Though the fact that Kosan missed the signs of its presence worries me." Louder, she said, "As for the Pearl's whereabouts, it was added to the warehouse inventory the day I removed it from Leena the second time, and if Kosan did miss evidence of the Pearl's involvement, what else has evaded his and, by extension, my notice?” Concerned now that her agents were facing a drastically altered situation, Mrs. Fredric looked inward, searching through her connection to the warehouse to discover if anything was amiss. However, nothing concrete was forthcoming, only a further sense that things weren't as they should be.

"Okay, so if it was here, then there should be an entry for it." Claudia went to the computer and pulled up the inventory file. A few short keystrokes brought up the information, which contained the aisle location and shelf number for the artifact.

The two women shared a glance, and Claudia weakly said, "I guess I should go take a look, hmm?"

Listed in clear, bold lettering on the file were the words, "Status: Present on shelf."

"I believe I shall accompany you," said Mrs. Fredric.

It was the first time Claudia had heard any inflection to her voice since they'd gotten the original call to check on the whereabouts of H.G. and her security detail. Her tone made the hairs on Claudia's arms stand up - Mrs. Fredric was afraid, and that was never cause for celebration.

Together, they made their way down to the floor of the warehouse. It took some time, but they eventually found the Dark Vault at the end of a particularly long and cluttered aisle. Nervously, Claudia entered her pass code and waited for the doors to open. Once inside, they quickly made their way to the display where the Pearl was reported to be stored.

Pulling on a pair of purple gloves, Claudia reached for the box containing the artifact, toggled it open, and then, half-hoping, half-dreading what she'd discover, lifted the lid.

TBC