before humans came to investigate all the flares and explosions. And she had no
magic left to shield herself.
“Come on, Artemis,” she said, desperation creeping into her voice. “We’re in
deeper trouble than ever before. Come on, you love this kind of impossible
problem. I’m sorry I shot you.”
Holly tugged off a glove and held her fingers high, inspecting them just in case
a spark remained.
Nothing. No magic. Perhaps it was just as well. The mind was a delicate
instrument, and Artemis’s dabblings with the fairy arts had probably triggered his
Atlantis Complex in the first place. If Artemis wanted to get well, he would have
to do it the old-fashioned way, with pills and electroshock. I already gave him his
first shock, thought Holly, swallowing a guilty chuckle.
Artemis shifted on the ice, trying to blink under a faceful of sloppy nanowafers.
“Unhhh,” he moaned. “Ayyy ga breee.”
“Wait,” said Holly, scooping handfuls of gunk away from his nostrils and
mouth. “Let me help.”
Artemis’s own inventions dribbled from the corners of his mouth. There was
something different about his eyes. They were the same colors as usual, but
softer somehow.
You’re dreaming.
“Artemis?” she said, half expecting a typical snappy retort, as in, Of course it’s
Artemis. Who were you expecting? But instead he simply said:
“Hello.”
Which was fine, and Holly was happy enough, until he followed it with:
“And who might you be?”
Ooooh, D’Arvit.
Holly tugged off her helmet. “It’s me, Holly.”
Artemis smiled in delight. “Of course, yes. Artemis thinks about you all the
time. It’s embarrassing that I didn’t recognize you. First time up close.”
“Uh . . . Artemis thinks about me. But you don’t?”
“Oh yes, I do constantly, and may I say you look even more bewitching in the
flesh.”
Holly felt a feeling of foreboding creep over her like the shadow of a summer
storm cloud.
“So, we haven’t met before?”
“Not met, per se,” replied the human youth. “I have of course been aware of
you. Seen you from afar, submerged as I was by Artemis’s personality. Thank
you for releasing me, by the way. I had been making inroads in the host
consciousness for some time now, since Artemis developed his little number
obsession, but that jolt from your weapon was just the thing to give me the boost
I needed. It was your weapon, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” said Holly absently. “And you’re welcome.
I think.” A sudden idea cut through her confusion. “How many fingers am I
holding up?”
The boy did a quick digit check. “Four.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“No. To me a number is a number. Four is no more a harbinger of death than
any other whole number. Fractions, though, they’re freakish.”
The youth smiled at his own joke. A smile of such simple saintly goodness that
it would have made Artemis retch.
Holly was drawn into the psychosis and had to ask, “So if you’re not Artemis
Fowl, then who are you?”
The boy extended a dripping hand straight up. “My name is Orion. I am so
pleased to meet you at last. I am, of course, your servant.”
Holly shook the proffered hand, thinking that manners were lovely, but she
really needed someone cunning and ruthless right now, and this kid didn’t appear
to be very cunning.
“That’s great, em . . . Orion. Really. We’re in a bind here, and I can use all the
help I can get.”
“Excellent,” said the boy. “I have been taking stock of the situation from the
rear seat, as it were, and I suggest that we retire to a safe distance and construct
some form of bivouac.”
Holly groaned. Of all the times for Artemis to go AWOL inside his own head.
Foaly clambered from the morass of nano-wafers, using his fingers to draw
aside curtains of gunk that obscured his vision.
“I see Artemis has woken up. Good. We could do with one of his trademark
apparently-ridiculous-but-actually-ingenious plans.”
“Bivouac,” said the boy in Artemis Fowl’s head. “I suggest a bivouac, and
perhaps we could gather kindling for a campfire, and some leaves to make a
cushion for the lovely lady.”
“Kindling? Did Artemis Fowl just use the word kindling? And who’s the lovely
lady?”
The wind picked up suddenly, lifting loose surface snow and sending it
skittering across the ice. Holly felt flakes settle on her exposed neck, sending a
prickling chill trickling down her spine.
Things are bad now, she realized. And they’re about to get worse. Where are
you, Butler? Why aren’t you here?
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