Nine

Artemis sat up next to her and gently set a hand on her back. She jerked away.

"We shouldn't have done that," she said. "It was wrong."

"Do you regret it?" he asked. She couldn't quite bring herself to look at him, but nodded. Wasn't it obvious? "Why?" He wasn't giving up, and a dry sob hitched in the back of her throat.

"Because I love him," she choked. She could see him sag a little out of the corner of her eye, but she only half wanted to apologize.

"Why is everything him?" he demanded. "You love him, and yet—" he was angry. She chanced a slight glance back at him and found his brow furrowed and his eyes dark. "Am I his replacement?"

She couldn't reply. He was, in a way, but in another, he was his own person. His mannerisms were different, and he was less formal and more risk-taking. "Artemis—" she finally summoned the courage to turn and face him, though she kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself, holding the covers up over her chest. He was closer than she'd expected him to be, and when she tried to back away, his hands descended on her bare shoulders and held her in place.

"Don't run away," he said firmly. She couldn't struggle; her hands were busy keeping herself covered, and she was still unable to maintain eye contact. "Answer me. Am I his replacement?"

"No!" she blurted, and then, more honestly, "I don't know."

"Holly." He stared her down unrelentingly and she fidgeted uncomfortably, wishing he'd just go away and let her think in peace.

"Stop it," she whispered.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why did you sleep with me if you still love him?" He shook her slightly, her body limp and doll-like under his hands. "Were you imagining that I was him? Were you?"

Her eyes filled with angry tears, she finally looked met his harsh and accusing stare. "Yeah," she admitted vehemently, "I was. Every touch—" she watched as her words slapped him in the face, "—every kiss—I wished you were him."

"You don't mean that," he said quietly.

"Yes, I do," she replied firmly. He looked hurt, more hurt than she'd thought he would be. He nodded slowly and swung his legs off the bed and stood, walking away to grab a bathrobe from a hook on the wall and slipping in on. Without another word, he disappeared out the door, leaving her to reflect on what she'd said.

It had been just sex, nothing but pure physical release, a brief escape from the world and all its complications. And yet he looked so upset that she'd simply used him for it without there being any real feelings between them. If she wasn't stark naked, she could almost be tempted to go after him and try to console him. Maybe bring him back to bed to make him feel better—no, Holly. What under the world are you thinking?! That didn't work out so well last time, remember?

She drew her knees up to her chest and stared after him at the door. What should she do? Following him and explaining would be the responsible, adult thing to do, sitting here and sulking that he'd taken it all so badly was childish, and sitting here contemplating what to accomplished nothing. Even after realizing that, she stayed where she was, and it wasn't until much later that it occurred to her that an apology might be in order.

Finally, she moved to the side of the bed and carefully stood, keeping the covers around her. Her clothes were all in her suitcase—except, of course, the ones she'd worn yesterday, but she had no idea where they'd gotten to; they didn't appear to be anywhere in the room—which was still in one of the guest rooms in the other wing of the house. She went to the door and opened it part way, then closed it again and headed for the closet instead. She took a dark green jumper off its hanger and pulled it over her head, letting the white sheet fall to the floor. It was large enough that it came to her knees, and so instead of taking a pair of pants as well (which would have been so big she would've had difficulty walking), she stayed simply in the huge sweatshirt.

She left the bedroom and padded along the hallways silently, rushing a little and pausing to peer around corners before venturing down them herself, on guard for the servants. The stone floors were frigid beneath her feet, effectively chilling the rest of her.

Thankfully, she made it to her room without incident and changed into her own clothes. From there, she left again to go wander, wishing she would run into Artemis and also hoping that she wouldn't.

The latter was the side of her that was satisfied for the entire day. She took her search outside as the sun began to set and eventually found her way to the landing pad, where only one of the two aircraft sat. Frowning, she touched a hand to a computer panel.

"Good evening," it said flatly.

"Um," Holly stumbled, taken aback, "Where is the second plane… thing?"

"Please restate the question," the computer intoned.

"The second aircraft," she repeated, slowly and clearly, "Where is it?"

"Please restate the question," it said again. Holly groaned. This was why she didn't use her computer very often.

"Where is the second aircraft?" she snarled.

"Tracking," said the computer. "Please wait." She tapped her foot in annoyance. "Secondary aircraft is on the landing platform at Ortega Manor, in Spain."

Spain. He'd gone back to Spain. She supposed it made sense; his memories had stopped far too early and so it was only logical that he'd want to get himself checked out by Mr. Ortega to make sure he was okay. Relatively speaking, of course. There were probably some serious mental issues going on at the moment—likely there had been for most of his life.

The computer spoke again, inquiring politely if there was anything else it could do for Holly, but she was already halfway to the plane and didn't hear it. She quickly closed the hatch behind her and sunk into the pilot's chair, hands hesitating before coming down on the controls. It had been a long time since she'd last flown a fairy pod, let alone some rickety Mudman contraption. Taking a deep breath and praying the thing had emergency autopilot should she press the wrong button and send herself into a nosedive, she located the buttons she should need to power it up: fuel battery on and wings out. The consoles lit up around her and she gave a slight sigh of relief that she hadn't gone boom, and then slid a finger along a bar marked elevation. Out the windows in front of her and the glass panel beneath her, she saw the ground drop away at frightening speed and felt g-forces press her down uncomfortably into the seat.

"Right," she muttered to herself, "Forgot the shield." She scanned the controls quickly. "Shield, shield… where art thou, shield?"

She was very happy that the craft could maintain a stationary hover, because if it couldn't, she would be very squished and most likely very dead. Finally, she found a button with a simplistic picture of the plane and a bright bubble surrounding it, and pressed it. Once she had her finger on it, she realized that the diagram also sort of resembled an explosion.

She did not explode, however, and when she located the steering mechanism (a flat, blank, touch-sensitive square, somewhat similar to a finger-mouse pad on an old computer) and sent herself forward, there was no pressure on her body. She pulled it up to a clumsy stop and reflected that this was almost fun. Almost.

She lost no time in seeking out the destination input and autopilot controls and entered Ortega Manor. Smiling faintly at the childish simplicity of it, she hit 'GO' and away she soared, the speedometer climbing so fast the numbers blurred, even to her sharp eyes.

A calm voice came over the loudspeakers. "Your destination is Ortega Manor. You will be alerted by a beep—" the computer gave a demonstrative beep "when you are five minutes from your destination. Do you wish to be alerted at another time?"

"Um, no," she said.

"Have a pleasant flight," the computer wished her, and then she was left in silence. And actual silence, too. The engines, even, were inaudible. The only sound was her blood rushing through the veins in her ears.

She closed her eyes, intending to sleep to pass the time, but the pulsing began to infiltrate her mind, denying her of her rest. She shifted in the chair just to make some noise, but the effects were soon lost. She hummed a tuneless melody to herself but that sound was even more annoying than the original and she cut herself off.

"Flow gently, sweet Afton, along thy green grave…" She didn't realize she was singing until she ran out of lyrics. It was a song she'd heard Angeline Fowl singing to the twins to put them to sleep on many occasions when she'd been staying late at Artemis's to work on some project or another. The only words she knew were the first line, and even those she wasn't sure of. 'green grave'? It sounded a little morbid for a lullaby, but she couldn't remember what else it might have been. She knew the way it sounded, though, and so she sang that to herself, wordlessly, just a simple, slightly off-tune melody.

It was the song she'd sung to herself so many years ago, during the nights when Artemis was away on business, alone in bed and pregnant. She put one hand over her eyes and the other on her abdomen, fighting another bout of tears. Even after being away from the LEP and Section 8 for so long, she was still a tough cookie. She always had been. But losing her child had shaken her to the core and it was one of the few things that made her cry almost every time she thought about it. There were others—among them her father and her little brother, a certain episode of a very old television series, and of course Artemis Fowl II—but her baby was the most effective tear-jerker.

This song, the one she didn't know, was quickly being added to that list.

Okay, I'd like to apologize for the long wait for this chapter. I've been very busy with school and life in general—my aunt was visiting and so I've hardly been at home, ergo I've had very little time to do homework, let alone write. Forgive me?