A/N: Dear readers, there is such a thing called a Dead Author.
This is a specific type of author. Not a good one. This Dead Author refuses to communicate to the readers in anything but story form. No author's notes, no gratitude.
Dead Author refuses to respond to reviews.
Sadly, I've been a Dead Author lately. While I have very reasonable excuses (life, etc.), it is still a fact that I haven't been responding to reviews.
Now, I know that some authors don't do this. But it is kind of nice to realize, as a reviewer (I know from personal experience), that the author is grateful and shows it.
And here is the part that I apologize, and tell all of you that I am very much Alive.
Thanks to: crazykittylover, Spritesinthehouse (thank you so much giving me a detailed desciption of what you liked! I never really though of my writing as detailed.), WolfRaisins, Renata Swift (thanka), seleenermparis (who left a lovely pick-me-up), JL724 (although I don't really know if you were sarcastic or not, ha ha), music4evah (Thank you so much, and Argon is a psychologist, so he's called doctor), TexasDreamer01 (an anonymous reviewer), and myheartstillbleedsforyou (thank you muchas, cute review!)
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Chapter 1: It's a Small World
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When Holly decided to go for a lunch break, all she'd wanted was a nice, relaxing stroll through Haven.
She'd wanted to savor the delicious aroma of fast-food grease, vehicle fumes, and the occasional mushroom. She'd wanted to hum Broadway show tunes down 32nd avenue, feeling the artificial light warm her skin. All she'd wanted was to get away from her cluttered office—courtesy of Major promotion—and the smell of elf dandruff shampoo.
But, being a member of the world as she knew it, she obviously didn't get it.
As she rounded a corner, carrying a little to-go box of rice and mushrooms, she saw flashing red and blue lights. Police cruiser. Which of course sent her cop senses tingling. Never a good sign.
A car wreck, was it? Or the fairy equivalent of a car wreck, what with the new floating magnetic cars and all?
She shuddered. That could be nasty.
As she walked closer, she gradually began to make out the details.
Two vehicles—thankfully not crushed or bent or hurt at all—one a civilian van and the other a police cruiser. Both were pulled over to the side of, luckily enough, a not very crowded street.
Mentally, she sighed with relief. No one looked hurt. Still, she was a proud member of the Lower Elements Police. It was her duty, as Major, to go and assist the situation anyway she could.
Even if, she thought, ever the martyr, I'm late for that mountain of paperwork waiting for me back at headquarters.
She heard voices from the two vehicles pulled to the side of the road.
"I swear to drunk I'm not Frond, officer!" slurred the civilian, holding onto the steering wheel with unfocused eyes. "I swear..."
Sprites, thought Holly. Always so articulate.
"Get out the vehicle," said the officer— also a sprite, it looked from this angle. Probably a Traffic cop.
"I swear to drunk...I'm not Frond..."
"You swear to drunk, eh? That's a new one." He snickered. "Just step out the van so we can do a DWI test."
"Swear... 'm not....Fr..."
And at that, the civilian sprite passed out.
"Need any help, officer?" Holly said, coming within hearing range.
The officer turned quickly at the sound of a female voice, chest immediately swelling. Sprites, you know. "Thank you, miss," he said, "but I have everything under con—Holly?"
"Huh?" Holly said intelligently, taken aback.
She hadn't seen him in a while, but...
"It is you!" exclaimed Chix Verbil. "Captain Holly, I'd know you anywhere!"
"It's Major now, actually," said Holly, a little miffed. She'd forgotten how Chix was.
He wasn't listening. "We meet everywhere, don't we?" he mused thoughtfully. "It must be a sign..."
"Since when are you in Traffic?" Holly jumped in hurriedly.
"Oh, uh, two weeks."
"And don't you need to get that sprite somewhere?" Holly rushed on. Dominating the conversation meant that Chix would have less chance of getting in more romantic quips. "You can't just leave him in the car, and I don't think he's going to wake up any time soon."
"Yeah, I—"
"Excellent work, Private!"
"You're—"
"Carry on! It's been nice talking to you, but I've got to get to Foaly's!" And at that, she began walking off with false bravado.
"Holly!" Chix cried, somewhat desperately. "Just a second—"
And at that moment, luckily enough, her communicator beeped.
HOLLY, it scrawled across the screen, MEET ME IN OPS BOOTH. ASAP. PLEASE. —FOALY.
A small, relieved smile broke over her face. Well, at least now I don't have to lie about it, she thought. I really do have to get to Foaly's. She glanced down at the take-out box in her hand. And I guess I can eat on the way, she thought mournfully.
"Holly—"
She glanced up at Chix, who was looking at her with puppy-eyes.
"Sorry, Chix," she said cheerfully, not sorry at all. "Urgent business. Possible saving the world and all that."
His eyes bugged. "Really—?"
"Gotta go," she chirped, and nearly skipped off— if that was possible for a proud member of the LEP—leaving a sputtering Chix Verbil in her wake.
Today, she thought, humming a snatch of tune from a random Broadway musical, really is a good day.
Which of course jinxed the rest of it.
Because, obviously, she was Holly Short. Things were never simple. Not even lunch break.
Despite being a demon warlock, universally acknowledged as one of the most prestigious and intelligent magical creatures of the fairy world, sometimes N°1 was very confused.
Like now, for instance.
What is that supposed to mean? he thought. He reviewed the memory planted in his cranium again. And again. And again...
First was the gorilla, as always....
Then the blood. N°1 shuddered, as always...
He'd looked dead, and the first time N°1 had seen the memory, his heart had plummetted down to his tail, despite the fact that he knew, in the end, Artemis had lived...
Then Holly came. Frightened. Horrified. Panicked. She'd thought he was dead too...
But then her magic sparked. As always.
Healing. Relief.
And then that.
N°1 didn't know what to make of it. Mystified. Puzzled. What could it mean? Scratch that, he knew what it meant, but why?
Holly and Artemis...who would have thought...
Again, he began to watch the memory. It scrolled around, in a loop, around and around, like a children's ride. No amount of reviewing seemed to give him any insight.
He was confused.
As always.
"And she finally arrives ," Foaly scolded, crossing his arms, but with a smirk. "Late. As usual."
"It's called 'fashionably late,'" Holly retorted. She didn't hurry her pace at all—actually, she went slower, casually walking into the computer area.
Still supremely casual, she hopped onto a tabletop and sat, legs dangling above the floor. "And your paranoia doesn't help," she said, opening her take-out box.
"Section Eight is a top-secret area," Foaly replied innocently. "Top-of-the-line security is a necessity."
"I had 6 eye scans, 14 fingerprint scans, and ear scan, and 3 virus-killing showers," she griped.
"You counted?" Foaly asked.
"They even checked my lunch for nuclear weapons!" She brandished her take-out box in Foaly's face.
"That is a little much," Qwan commented from a corner, where he and N°1 sat comfortably. N°1 managed a smile, nothing more.
"Now my food tastes wierd," Holly complained, stuffing a rice ball in her mouth. "What'd they do to it?"
"Erm—laser scans," Foaly said. "They, ah, might have messed up their molecular structure."
"Wh—?"
"Enough!" shouted a female voice as Holly opened her mouth.
At Qwan's left, Wing Commander Vinyaya slapped a hand to the table. "Did you call us here to discuss Major Short's lunch?" she asked pointedly, in a much more polite tone.
"Is everyone present?" Qwan looked around.
"Vinyaya...Qwan...N°1...Holly...." Foaly counted. "...myself...And Mulch couldn't make it. Other than that, the gang's all here."
"Yeah, Mulch's out with Doodah, busting criminals...." Holly trailed off. Something that sounded suspiciously like 'lucky idiots' was muttered under her breath.
"Oh, and Trouble couldn't fit us into his busy schedule, " Foaly said. "He's going to learn the hard way that all the important stuff happens around us."
"What is so important that a Commander would need to come?" Vinyaya sighed impatiently and tapped a finger.
"Well, you're here," Foaly pointed out. "Wing Commander."
Vinyaya's finger tapped faster, staccato beats on the tabletop. It was like Root's habit of cigars and yelling, except more feminine. It was a Commander thing. They all needed stress outlets.
"Oh, disgusting!" Holly spat out a mushroom into her box. "That's what's wrong with it!"
She pulled out her Neutrino (Foaly nearly ducked, remembering the security scans), fiddled with the stun settings, and pointed it at the grey soggy chunk.
"It went cold," she mumbled through a mouthful. Spearing the steaming, crispy, delectable mushroom on her fork, she chewed happily.
"You aren't supposed to use standard equipment for—" Foaly started dutifully.
"ENOUGH!"
Vinyaya stood up in her seat, looking remarkably composed, despite having just yelled at top volume. "It's amazing you people get anything done at all, let alone saving the People!" she cried, exasperated. "For Frond's sake, just tell us why we're here!"
She was Julius's classmate, thought Holly, remembering. "Come on, Foaly," she said aloud.
Foaly took a deep breath, suddenly serious.
"All right," he said, clip-clopping over to the plasma television. He pressed a small button, and a bluish picture of a city that looked very similar to Haven appeared.
"At 3:45 this morning," Foaly said, "Atlantis had an emergency electricity black-out. They were probed."