Warehouse 13: A Touch of Fever (37 page)

“This is such a waste of my talents,” Claudia grumbled as she clipped out newspaper articles for Artie’s files. “Doesn’t he know print is passé? Digital is where it’s at.”

“Think of it as a hard copy backup,” Myka advised. She suspected that Artie just wanted to keep Claudia too busy to cause any more havoc in the Warehouse. Apparently, there had been an incident concerning a totem pole? “Indulge him.”

“Easy for you to say.” Claudia worked her scissors like she was digging ditches. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth. “You’re not stuck scrapbooking like a suburban hausfrau. . . .”

“Maybe you’ll get time off for good behavior.”

Pete stole a copy of the
New York Times
from Claudia’s pile. “Hey, check this out,” he mumbled through a mouthful of buttery pastry. “Says here that a freak earthquake in Central Park resulted in an episode of mass hysteria.” He squinted dubiously at the front page. “You really think anyone’s going to buy that?”

“As opposed to believing that Clara Barton’s cursed gloves nearly gave everybody typhoid fever?” Myka assumed that Mrs. Frederic or the Regents had somehow planted that story—and covered up what had really taken place. “People want sane, rational explanations. I know I did . . . before.”

“Yeah, not even our next door neighbors can handle the truth.” Claudia slid a newly excised clipping across the table. “According to the
Univille Unquirer,
a spectacular ‘air show’ at the street fair this weekend was rained out by an unexpected storm. They’re blaming global warming.” She took a break from scrapbook duty to pour herself a fresh glass of OJ. “Apparently, somebody vandalized a sculpture in the park too.”

“Bummer,” Pete said. “I always liked that thing. It was totally tubular.”

“Oh, really?” Myka looked askance. “Since when have you been interested in modern art? Your idea of high culture is a
Jersey Shore
marathon.”

“Hey, don’t diss The Situation” He patted his abs. “Can I help it if you have no idea what cool is?”

Before Myka could fire back with the ideal retort, the screen doors opened and Leena joined them on the patio. She brought a bowl of ripe strawberries to go with the croissants. She smiled wryly at the agents’ friendly bickering. “Sounds to me like everyone is back to normal.”

“Whatever that means around here.” Claudia leafed through the local paper. “Hey, guess what? There’s a circus coming to town.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. “We should
so
check that out!”

Pete lobbed a strawberry at her head.

“Or not,” she amended.

She ducked the fruity missile which flew past her head just as Artie strolled through the door. It splattered at his feet.

He heaved a world-weary sigh. “A nursery. I’m running a nursery.”

“Sorry, chief,” Claudia said sheepishly. She pointed at Pete. “He started it!”

“Snitch!” Pete accused her. “That’s it. I’m not letting you win at Halo anymore.”

“Right.” Claudia snorted. “Like you ever had a chance. . . .”

Artie held up his hand to forestall any further discussion. “That’s enough, both of you.” Plopping himself down in an empty chair, he opened his satchel and pulled out a bulging accordion file. “We have work to do.” His gaze alighted on the breakfast spread. “Ooh, croissants!”

“Just one,” Leena advised. “Remember your triglycerides.”

Myka was intrigued by the file. “What do you have for us, Artie?”

“A ping if I ever saw one.” Artie helped himself to a single croissant. “Seems the dead are rising in New Orleans. . . .”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Marie Laveau’s voodoo doll?” Claudia guessed.

“So it would seem.” Artie handed Pete and Myka a pair of plane tickets. “Your flight is in an hour.”

Myka gulped down the last of her coffee. She nodded at Pete. “Flip you for the Tesla.”

“You’re on.” He grabbed a croissant for the road. “The Big Easy, here we come.”

Myka grinned in anticipation.

“The beignets are on me.”

Looking back, I wanted to write a
Warehouse 13
novel as soon as I watched the first episode, but it took a lot of people to make that possible.

First of all, I want to thank my editor, Jen Heddle at Pocket Books, for recruiting me in the first place, and my agent, Russ Galen, for making the deal happen. And the real-life proprietors of Warehouse 13—Jack Kenny, Nell Scovell, Drew Z. Greenberg, Ian Stokes, and others—for generously sharing their time and expertise. And Chris Lucero at NBC Universal for making the whole process run smoothly.

Finally, I can’t forget my girlfriend, Karen, who put up with me babbling about artifacts and neutralizers and Tesla guns for months, and insisting on watching the episodes over and over. And our four-legged offspring, Lyla, Churchill, Henry, and Sophie, as well as their big brother Alex, who passed away while this book was being written. It feels very strange to be writing this without him sleeping in the background somewhere. He will be missed.

GREG COX
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of numerous books and short stories. He has written the official movie novelizations of
Daredevil, Ghost Rider, Death Defying Acts,
and all three
Underworld
movies, as well as novels and stories based on such popular series as
Alias, Buffy, CSI, Farscape, The 4400, The Green Hornet, Roswell, Star Trek, Underworld, Xena,
and
Zorro
. He has received two Scribe Awards from the International Association of Media Tie-in Writers. He lives in Oxford, Pennsylvania.

His official website is www.gregcox-author.com.