The day was a cool one, unexpectedly so. Captain Holly Short was very glad for her microfibre suit as she stepped out of the fairy mound at Tara. Moths scattered away from her, zigzagging frantically into the night. Fog shrouded the world like a blanket of ghosts, muffling every movement and sound. She could barely make out the shadowy shape of the nearby oak tree reaching its ancient fingers toward the sky. For once, that wasn't her objective. These days, there were only two reasons to come to Ireland, one of which was The Ritual. The other...
It was best not to ponder on the other; old superstitions usually cautioned against thinking of the devil. Holly shook her head and strapped on her wings, watching a review of the evidence reel as she did so. Her fingers automatically tightened belts and completed safety checks as pages of data scrolled by on her visor, accompanied by pictures of neatly catalogued evidence.
"You get all that, Holly?" Foaly asked, his voice as clear as if her were standing next to her.
"Yes. Got it covered."
"Be careful. Things have been getting strange lately," he said.
She laughed, though to her own ears it sounded a little strained. "Don't worry. I'm a big elf, I can take care of myself."
"You always do, and that's what I'm afraid of," he muttered before the transmission cut off.
Checks completed, she took off. Shielding would do her no good in this fog; the low clouds would be stirred by the wings far too much for it to be effective. Besides, the mist was thick enough that she'd probably be mistaken for a bird if spotted.
For a moment, Holly simply lost herself in the joy of flight. With each passing year, the People were forced to be more cautious, and it became harder and harder to get to the surface and breathe free air. It was hardship and blessing in one. Even the air in rural Ireland carried the acrid taint of pollution now; sometimes Holly envied the civilians. They might not get to see the moon but once every hundred years or so while completing The Ritual, but at least they didn't have to watch the Mud People tear the earth apart.
One of the monitors in her helmet chirped softly, letting her know that she was approaching her surveillance point, the source of a signal that had been encroaching on the fairy network in recent days. It had taken Foaly more time and a lot more brainpower than he liked to admit to unravel the source. That in itself should have been a tip-off, but Holly had kept her peace.
This was supposed to be a fairly standard mission, nothing but recon to make way for the recovery team. Mind wipe a Mud Man and continue on their merry way. The previous occurences of the signal had been traced by to a mud man by the name of E. Q. White, who was by reputation a napoleon of computer crime. There was shockingly little on him in the LEP files, which should have been another red flag. And for the signal to suddenly be coming from Ireland...well, he might as well have signed his name. Not that anyone would even think of it except for herself and Foaly - it was too easy to fall into smugness and think that their technology was infallible.
It all sat in her stomach like a leaden lump. Her instincts chanted one thing in the back of her mind - it was him again. It had to be.
The coordinates took her to a graveyard, murky and ancient, but more neatly groomed than any she'd ever seen before. She could make out the shape of gravestones, trees, and one pale blur that seemed out of place. Silently, she landed behind one of the taller monuments, her fingers fidgeting with her wing straps as she fought an internal battle once again. The part of her that was an LEP officer knew what to do, demanded it, in fact. Yet somehow, her fingers betrayed her, unstrapping the helmet and setting it camera down onto the ground. She could hear the faint sounds of Foaly protesting as she walked away from it, toward the pale shape in the mist. Later, there would be questions, and later she would think up plausible answers. Maybe she'd even find an answer for herself.
Whatever dark part of her had been anticipating this wasn't disappointed. There, using a black gravestone as if it were a throne, he sat.
Holly didn't bother attempting to conceal herself. He already knew she was there, and besides, this was familiar territory. There was a script, of sorts. She used the wings to propel her to the top of a gravestone opposite him and stood so that she could look him in the eye without straining her neck. "Artemis," she said, trying to inject the appropriate amount of boredom into her tone, "aren't you tried of this game yet?" There was an odd flutter in her stomach that she did her best to ignore. She still had no idea when he'd gone from being a Mud Boy to a Mud Man to a man. It seemed best not to think about it.
He stood, taking a step forward and parting the mists like a movie magician. "Captain Short, it's a pleasure as always," he said. His voice was as eerie and dead calm as the first time they'd first met, if deeper.
She almost gasped. He'd changed, like all Mud Men did, chiseled into a new shape by the unkindness of years. This time, his designer suit was a delicate, eggshell white, as immaculate as always. His hair had gained blonde streaks somehow - she seemed to remember Foaly saying that was the current fashion - but at least he hadn't gotten any bigger. He'd been done growing for over ten years, if she remembered correctly. All of that was expected if not necessarily familiar. No, it was the eye patch he now wore, stark black against his pale skin.
He already knew what she was thinking, it seemed. He made a habit of that. "It's a dangerous world out there," he said, tapping the patch.
"You can't continue to do this, Artemis. This needs to be the last time. I can't cover for you forever."
He shook his head, the cruel parody of a smile on his lips. "I never asked for your help, Holly. By all means, let your superiors know. Let them attempt to erase my memory again. You already know how well that tends to work."
"We have to protect ourselves." she said, suddenly defensive. The party line was a good last resort.
"I warned you, over twenty years ago. I told you that removing your influence could have...counterproductive effects. You have no idea the luck you had that I turned out in your favor the first time."
"There wasn't supposed to be a second time."
"There never is with you."
"But you have your memories back, all of them. Why are you doing this, Artemis?" she yelled, finally giving in to her temper.
"The experience of intervening years, I suppose. Time and the realization of what had been done to me." He turned away from her, running a hand over the stone behind him. "All points are moot now. In spite of what you might think, I brought you here for a reason today."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"I thought you might like to say goodbye."
A cold hand seized her heart. "What?"
He seemed not to hear her as he ran a distracted hand through his hair. "First mother and father to the assassins, then Juliet to the supposed car accident...at this point, my list of family and friends has grown quite thin. You are perhaps the only other person in this world that cares."
"No..." she whispered. The denial was weak; she knew what was coming.
"Butler served well until the end. He was murdered when our enemies decided to come looking for me in Prague."
Tears spilled from her eyes, despite her best efforts. It was the grief for Butler, yes - she'd never forget him, his absolute calm and occasional dry humor. At the same time, there was something about Artemis that tore at her heart. He was alone. "You have to stop this, Artemis," she said.
He shook his head, giving the gravestone one last affectionate pat. "I'm sorry to say that I can't. It's an addiction, I suppose, in my blood and bone. The game, the chase, the hunt. Eternal." The dead smile once more tipped up the corners of his mouth. "And now, what else have I to lose?"
Holly had no answer. She stood frozen as he walked toward her, covering the distance between them in a few short strides. She stiffened as he took her hand, his fingers as light and delicate as butterfly wings against her skin, and raised it to his lips.
She could remember those lips, just once before, the first time he had purposefully drawn the attention of LEP after recovering his memories. A lakeshore at the first blush of sunrise, listening to the lap of water. He'd still been a teenager, then, growing and gangly, but he'd wrapped her in a warm embrace despite her protests and kissed her as soundly as the hero out of any romance novel. Artemis Fowl II never had believed in doing things halfway. For those few moments, she had wanted to believe.
"I enjoy our little visits, Holly," he said, breathing a soft sigh across her skin. "It's the only way I can see you."
She tried to pull her hand away, but it was half-hearted at best. All of her strength had gone to her internal war. "No. Artemis. I can't. I...it won't work. Please don't. Just stop it! Let me go!"
"As you wish," he said, releasing her hand.
She jerked back as if burned, almost falling from the stone. "Don't you get it? You're the blink of an eye, Mud Man," she said, shocked by the cold vindictiveness that had just found its way into her voice. "You live and die like mayflies. You're nothing to the People."
He smiled, the first genuine expression she'd seen on his face since she arrived. "No one knows that better than I. However, short as my life may be, it is my own, to make of as I will. Good evening to you, Captain Short." His footsteps were barely audible as he walked toward the graveyard gate.
"Wait!" she yelled, reaching out with a hand as if to stop him. It threw her once more into internal confusion - but that was better than thinking, and facing that particular pain again.
He stopped and faced her politely, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"
"Listen to me, Artemis. You have to stop this. I can't keep covering for you forever. Some day someone is going to find out, and they won't be happy. They won't care what you've done in the past. You're a threat. Please."
Artemis smiled again. "Let them find out, Captain Short. If they decide I am a threat that must be eliminated once and for all, I will welcome the challenge. At this point, I sincerely doubt that the People will be able to defeat me again. I've become far too adept at surviving." This time, he did walk from the graveyard, not glancing back once. As he passed through the gates, Holly's keen hearing caught his last soft words, "One might always hope, though."
Holly's legs gave out and she sat abruptly, no longer bothering to try to stop her tears or pretend that she didn't care. She did care, and far too much. That was precisely the problem.