A/N: I know this with Spiro and Opal might seem to go on a long time, but setting up a complicated (well, complicated for me, that is) plot is a beast.
Hope you enjoy, and see you at the end! :J
Chapter 3: Alliance
Things were going well for Opal Koboi, fairy or pixie or fairy-turned-human or whatever the heck she was.
The Spiro Needle was undergoing some renovations. Fission Chips employees had been relegated to other sites to continue their work while the construction was going on, but many a business journal had critiqued CEO and owner Jon Spiro's timing. After all, the company had lost much of its former prestige and was currently in financial trouble. Spending billions to increase security and upgrade to the newest cutting-edge technologies now didn't seem particularly wise.
Jon Spiro's critics might have been a little more impressed had they known exactly what kinds of improvements were being made to the Needle. These upgrades were decades ahead of anything currently on the market, because these technologies weren't human. The critics might have then moved from impressed to terrified, had they realized that these upgrades weren't simply to win Fission Chips the position of top communications company in the world. The Spiro Needle was now being prepared to act as central base of operations from which to direct a global assault.
Among the many changes to the Needle, several filter options had been added to the security cameras, including heat and chemical makeup scanners, and even anti-shield filters, just in case of invisible intruders. Additionally, the Needle's underground car park, which had been reportedly filled in due to safety issues, had been converted into a small nuclear reactor facility, a fact of which the United States Nuclear Regulatory Commission was happily unaware, so the Needle could be entirely self-powered if need be.
But Spiro's favorite had to be the DNA cannons. Nuclear-powered lasers that could be alternatively programmed to either stun or vaporize any intruder whose DNA was either not on a list of welcome guests or had been specifically added to a database blacklisting the intruder as an enemy.
Naturally, all this had taken manpower to accomplish. But Spiro's new partner even had that taken care of. A virtual army had descended on the Needle, all faceless drones in construction uniforms, ready to do as the one they worked for bid. And from what Spiro understood, they were an army, or the beginnings of one.
Most of the construction was now complete, and all on schedule according to his small accomplice. However, the Needle had not reopened for business, and the yellow tape remained outside the entrance.
Spiro should have been delighted. This was technology ahead of anything his competitors had ever dreamed of, and what was more, they were on the verge of being in the position to literally take over the world. He should have been doing a jig. But he wasn't. Because if there was one thing Spiro valued more than money and technology, it was control. And at the moment, he had none.
Spiro stood near the window of his penthouse apartment, looking out over the city. He lifted a hand to pull back the white drapes, then let them fall back into place. Before, he had enjoyed standing in this spot. Looking down on all the little people mulling below, and thinking about their meaningless little lives, unaware of how helpless they were, and how they were all subject to those richer, stronger. He was like a lion, and they the antelope from which he had his pick to prey upon. Now, he was more like a princess trapped in the top tower, all because of a little girl. And of course, her obnoxious other partner.
Spiro's thoughts turned back to that time when they had first met. That first week when, annoying as the little psychotic fairy was, things were still going in his favor.
The Spiro Needle, Three Months Earlier
Spiro followed Opal down the long empty hallway, the clicking sound of their shoes against the floor tiles echoing off the walls.
"So, what's this special shipment?" he said, in a tone far from gracious. "I ordered all my staff restationed, have been footing the bill for those mercenaries you hired to do work on the Needle, and still you haven't told me a thing about your great plan to take down Artemis Fowl. I'm waiting. And let me tell you, if there's one thing Jon Spiro doesn't take well, it's waiting."
For almost anyone Spiro had worked with over the years, this would have been enough of a threat to get things moving the way he wanted. But the girl only waved a dismissive hand, not even bothering to look up from the device on her wrist as her fingers danced in midair over the screen. She wore an orange-tinted visor, which apparently allowed her to see a virtual keypad.
"Patience, Mr. Spiro," she said calmly. "I told you, I will explain everything once this shipment arrives. My assistant is due to deliver it today. Then you will see the sheer brilliance of my latest endeavors."
Spiro scowled. He would have had this girl pitched from the top floor of the Needle days ago if not for her twin promise of the same technology Fowl had once shown him that fateful day those years ago, and revenge on Artemis Fowl himself. But Spiro had to hold his temper. This was too good an opportunity to pass up.
"This is costing me billions," he grumbled. "Billions I don't have. If you just made a cube like the one Fowl's got, I could take all I need."
"Which would then attract the attention of the LEP," she answered derisively. "Money is the least of our worries, Mr. Spiro. Which you would know, if you had been listening to a word I've said. I told you, we will steal everything back eventually, and more besides, but at the moment we have more important considerations."
Spiro's fingers curled slowly into a fist at his side. That was easy for her to say. Fowl had bankrupted him after the fiasco with the C Cube, and so most of the money being shelled out now had been borrowed from the Antonellis, and some of his other underworld connections. It wasn't her neck on the line, and he couldn't know for sure if she would really deliver. However, he had come too far to put a stop to things now.
"Okay," he said. "Fine. We'll wait. But I better see some results, girl."
Again, she didn't even look at him. Like he was of so little consequence that his threats couldn't so much as irritate her. Spiro ground his teeth, but forced himself to be calm.
"So," said Spiro after a moment. "Remind me again who you are exactly. What's your relationship to Fowl?" Spiro liked bringing up Artemis Fowl in front of this girl. It was the one thing that could set her off.
On cue, her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. "He's my enemy," she hissed. "He is an insufferable do-gooder masquerading as a great criminal, who fancies himself of greater intelligence than myself." She stopped, taking several deep, steadying breaths. "And that is all," she completed airily.
"He beat you and put you in prison," noted Spiro.
Opal's mouth twisted. "He did. But I escaped. Twice, in fact."
Spiro looked at her, and something suddenly occurred to him. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought about it before.
"Those LEP people you told me about. Lower Elements Police or whatever. If you escaped from prison, how do you know they won't find you? They've got to be hunting everywhere for you, if what you said about being a top-priority prisoner under twenty-four hour surveillance is true. How do you know they aren't outside right now?"
Opal laughed, her voice the sound of tinkling bells. "Oh, they aren't looking for me. They don't even know I'm gone. That's just how dense they are."
Spiro was curious, despite himself. "Oh yeah?" he said, trying to sound skeptical. "And how did you manage that?"
Opal pulled off the orange-tinted glasses and turned to look at him, her eyes dancing. "It's a rather involved tale. But the funniest part about it—I did something remarkably similar the first time. That is, I escaped without their realizing it, and it took some time before they finally came around to what I had done."
"Huh," said Spiro, debating whether he was really in the mood for an involved tale or not. However, the girl didn't give him the option.
"For my first incredible escape, I made prior arrangements. I placed myself in a coma, and had it arranged I would be kept in a certain clinic. A clinic which, of course, I had previously planted with two of my own subordinates. They grew a clone to my precise size, and then they switched it with me. A clone has little brain activity of course, but considering I was in a coma, that was exactly what I needed."
Spiro nodded. It sounded complicated, but then, escape from the feds these days generally had to be. Security around dangerous prisoners had gotten tight, thanks to politicians intent on avoiding embarrassing prison breaks. "And your second escape?"
Opal's smile turned sly. "Well, that will take a little more explaining."
She came to a stop in front of a heavy metal door with a keypad. This was only one of several of Spiro's secured rooms, where he stored valuables or held meetings he didn't want interrupted.
Apparently she had already hacked the system, because the thumb-print, retina, and vocal scanners all yielded to her as easily as if she had been Spiro himself. Spiro was disconcerted, and even just a little impressed, though he decided to keep it to himself.
Opal did not enter the final pass-code right away, however. Instead, she turned back to the empty hallway.
As though on cue, the nearby elevator dinged and its doors slid open to reveal a young man, the insignia of a local delivery company stamped on his crisp, white shirt. Next to him in the elevator was a tall, ordinary-looking cardboard box that was taller than he was, sitting on a two-wheeled dolly.
Well, more like a delivery boy than a man, Spiro thought. Spiro noticed that, despite the official-looking uniform, the kid had a certain slouch in his shoulders that all part-time teens seemed to have lately. Lazy brats.
"You can't be up here, kid," said Spiro, voice dangerously cold. "That elevator's only supposed to move for someone with clearance. How did you get up here? Who helped you?"
Paying no attention to Spiro, the teen trundled his load out of the elevator and into the hallway, the elevator doors closing smoothly behind him.
"I told you I had an assistant who would be bringing my package," said Opal, waving a hand dismissively in the delivery boy's general direction. "He's one of mine."
Spiro studied the boy carefully. He was definitely human. Strange—up until now, Opal had been insisting she was not to be seen by anyone, even the hired mercenaries and construction workers downstairs, or Spiro's most trusted people. But she must have an inner circle of loyal subordinates tucked away somewhere.
"This way," said Opal, striding through her chosen door, but not before snapping her fingers at the delivery boy, like she would a trained dog.
Spiro, who had never cared for punk kids, shot one last glare at the teen, then followed. The delivery boy tilted the package back on its wheels and went in after them.
The room was not much to look at. It had once served as an old conference room, but most of the furniture had been taken out and moved to other, more comfortable rooms. Four bare gray walls and a long table with a couple of leather rolling chairs, and that was about all it was. The only decoration was a tropical plant in the corner, which was long since dead from neglect.
"Over here," said Opal, walking around the table, and pointing at a spot next to the wall on the far side of the room.
The teen wheeled the box over, and carefully slid it off the dolly.
Opal's eyes were bright with anticipation. "Take it out," she breathed.
Pulling a box cutter from his pocket, the boy began to shred away the cardboard with expert precision. He pulled back form-fitting foam padding to reveal a tall, cylindrical object.
Spiro laid eyes on what seemed to be a glass tube sandwiched between two metal cylinders, and inside Spiro could just make out a colorfully painted plastic statue, a weird abstract work that roughly resembled...well, it didn't really resemble anything, except maybe a geometric piece of seaweed with rough knobs sticking out from every side. No doubt those knobs would have some kind of deep meaning to some art postgraduate somewhere, but Spiro couldn't have cared less.
"What is it?" he asked blankly.
"How do you like the centerpiece for the lobby of the new Spiro Needle?" Opal asked innocently.
Spiro stared at it. "This piece of crap? Tell me you're joking. Let's get one thing straight, fairy, far as I'm concerned, art is for museums. Maybe those Phonetix dweebs like to decorate their halls with crappy modern art, but not Fission Chips. Art. You're making my stomach turn." The only art Spiro would put up with was his beloved Snow Ghost, and that was a special case. He didn't care what the girl promised, he drew the line at this. He had to maintain some dignity for his fallen company.
To his surprise, Opal responded to this little rant with another laugh. "Jon Spiro, that is the first intelligent thing you have said so far. Indeed, one would have difficulty finding a subject much more useless than the arts. Of course I am joking. But we had to be sure to keep the true contents of my shipment concealed, just in case it fell into the wrong hands."
Opal hit a button on a computer attached to her wrist, then she put her orange visor back on and her fingers danced in midair before the base of the statue. She pressed a thumb against a patch of steel on the base.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like some kind of raging wildfire, electric blue circuit patterns began to zigzag outward from her finger, enveloping the the base below and snaking up to the glass surface above.
Spiro lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden blinding light. When he pulled his hand away, he saw the tube was changed. The object was still topped with what looked like a thick steel lid and set on a steel base, but now on the previously empty metal surface of the base was a fingerprint scanner, visible right where Opal's thumb still rested. It was accompanied by a number of circular ports and several small screens with readouts in symbols Spiro couldn't understand.
Inside the glass tube the statue was gone, and in its place was a swirling dark-green liquid like toxic sludge. As Spiro peered into its depths, he thought he saw a flash of white. A hand.
Spiro's heart jumped into his throat, but then he cursed himself for reacting like a terrified schoolboy. He'd seen a lot worse in his day, and caused worse himself. But there was something in that tube that reeked of human experimentation, and not even Spiro, criminal that he was, had ever dabbled in that particular area of illegal activity.
Spiro glanced at the delivery boy, and wondered just how far in on all of this girl's secrets and plans he was. Pretty far, obviously. Spiro wondered if Opal really trusted him, or if he was under some kind of spell. Supposedly these fairies had magic, though he had yet to see any.
Opal nodded at the boy. "You may go," she said. "Sit over there until I summon you. I am going to demonstrate for Mr. Spiro the true extent of my genius."
Without a word, the teenager slouched over to the conference table on the far side of the room, pulling out his smartphone on the way. He hunkered down and immediately trained his eyes on the small screen. No doubt to play Tetris or some other stupid time-wasting game. That was today's teenagers for you.
Opal didn't bother to watch her minion go and had already turned back to the tube.
Spiro eyed the tube greedily. "A hologram," he said. "And just how would I go about getting one of these things built myself? I bet it would be worth billions."
"A hologram such as this one is a fairly common and rudimentary piece of technology," said Opal, her expression almost pitying. "Every rich fairy child with a virtual game box sees technology of this level every day. What should be of interest to you is what is inside this capsule. It is my newest creation, the ultimate blend of science and magic which will revolutionize biological research of every kind, and will be the beginning of Artemis Fowl's downfall."
Spiro could feel his anticipation building, enough to allow him to let slide yet another thinly veiled insult. He suddenly had visions of limitless armies and supersoldiers. "So?" he whispered. "What is it?"
Opal depressed a button on the base of the tube, and immediately the dark turgid liquid began to drain. She turned to Spiro. "Do you remember how I escaped the last time?" she asked.
"You switched yourself with a clone," he said. "They didn't even know you were gone." He paused, eying the tube as the last of the liquid finished draining into the base, and the humanoid form that lay curled within. He took in the bow lips, the long, sleek black hair. He went on, "But that sort of trick could only work once. They'd be on the lookout for it, so they'd know if you did it again."
Opal laughed yet again, that high, delighted sound like an angel's choir. "Yes, Mr. Spiro. But you see, the LEP is stupider than you might think. Overconfident. Blind. Even my old competitor Foaly has grown soft in the intervening years, and does not even suspect the truth. You may not think they could fall for the same trick twice, but the fact is that they have. All I had to do was make a few adjustments. Change the rules. And now I am free, once again in a position to enact all my schemes and they have not the slightest idea."
While Opal was speaking, the glass part of the tube had slid downward, leaving only two thin wafer bars of metal on either side to hold the top of the tube aloft. Spiro watched as three slender metal arms slid smoothly out of the tube's base and each tip split to form three circular attachments, one at the end of each arm, like three metal nooses. While one secured itself around the body's torso, the others took the two arms and lifted them up and away from the body for balance. The metal arms set the figure down gently before Opal and Spiro, the thing's dangling feet brought down to rest solidly on the floor, head hanging limply to its chest.
For a moment, Opal seemed completely overcome, too in awe of the creature before them to say anything. She lifted a small, childlike finger to brush the lifeless figure's cheek delicately.
Spiro noticed white callouses and scars on those hands for the first time. His eyebrow flickered in surprise as he tried to imagine this girl ever doing actual manual labor.
For some reason, in seeing this one small detail, a moment of insight flashed across his mind. He consciously comprehended for the first time the girl's claim that she was older than he was, and he thought about the experience she would have gathered throughout that long life. This girl was wild, completely unrestrained and unpredictable, capable of doing anything to accomplish her goals. Not a shred of moral feeling held her back from doing any number of heinous things, including it seemed, experimentation with sentient life.
And yet, one wouldn't be able to tell by looking at her. She was so small and looked so innocent, just a little girl. Spiro could only imagine how hard she had had to work to inspire the respect and fear she apparently now commanded.
Spiro knew only too well the frustration of being constantly underestimated and never given proper respect. Growing up as a shrimp and realizing some time in his late teens that he was forever going to be a head or two shorter than most of the men around him hadn't been easy. There was nothing that felt better than, after having shown himself capable of gaining power they could only dream of, being able to grind the noses of those morons who had tormented and oppressed him into the pavement.
This little fairy girl may be digging her way an inch below his skin, but Spiro had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that she did have certain qualities. Qualities he had to admire.
A boss who insisted an employee take a day off from work for the sake of the employee's own well-being was as rare in the fairy world as it was in the human one. But if there was one thing that would amaze the average worker more than that, it had to be an employee who would grumble and complain about said day off.
However, Holly Short was known for being something of a tradition breaker. As she sat stationary on the couch of her small apartment, watching dull news broadcasts and equally dull over-the-top dramas while she concentrated on recovering her physical strength, gratitude toward her commander was not the chief thing on her mind.
I might literally die of boredom, she thought, as she flicked past yet another sappy romance in which the protagonist, a young female elf with unnaturally straight teeth and hair dyed platinum blond, was currently in the midst of a lengthy monologue describing the depths of her love for a tall elf with wild, wavy black hair and a dark, handsome complexion.
That morning, Holly had gotten out of bed to find that she had absolutely no idea what to do with herself. The last few months, her life had so revolved around Recon that she hadn't been spending much recreational time at her apartment or anywhere else, and the idea of leisure had almost grown into an alien concept. After she ate some breakfast, a bowl of Insta-meal which only took about five minutes to make and even less to eat, she tried grabbing a dusty reading crystal to pass the time. It was one of her favorite action thrillers by author Horri Antowitz, and she hadn't read it in years, but after her eyes slid over the first few sentences about five times she had given it up as a lost cause.
Now Holly had resorted to daytime programming. She sat in front of the television, eyes half closed, pressing the down arrow on the remote again and again, like a Mud Man factory worker in an assembly line. However, from time to time her eyes were drawn irresistibly downward, to the small coffee table in front of the screen. Or more specifically, to the overly large book she had carelessly deposited there the day before.
No way, she told herself. Not happening. Any bad sitcom is a thousand times better than something of Orion's.
However, even though Holly had already been subjected to a nearly continuous stream of Orion's mindless, deluded chatter before, on more than one occasion in fact, she was gripped by the keenest urge to pick the book up and flip through it.
Holly kept her eyes fixed resolutely on the screen as she made the rounds on what had to be at least two hundred channels, thanks to unasked-for upgrades made by Foaly, but after landing on three consecutive cooking shows, her eyes flickered back down to the coffee table. She ought to take that book and throw it in a dark corner somewhere, where she couldn't see it. That obnoxious cover was going to give her an ulcer.
Holly considered a moment, then, with some effort, lifted herself off her hand and leaned forward. She reached out until she touched the novel's wide spine. For a moment her hand lingered there, fingers curling under the front edge of the cover, as though to draw it back. Then she flipped the novel onto its front and breathed a small sigh of relief as the gag-worthy romantic sunset disappeared from sight.
However, Holly's eyes were attracted to a small bit of writing on the relatively plain back, apparently some kind of note from the publishers. Before she could stop herself, she read, In keeping with the traditional Mud Man format, we are pleased to present to you this title distributed in the once-popular but now outdated 'book' style typical of Mud-Man reading material. However, the pages are fashioned out of a newly synthesized substance (patented by Foaly, head technical consultant for the LEP and holder of over a hundred different patents for technological developments) instead of ordinary Mud Man materials, so no trees were injured in the making of this product.
Holly's lip twitched at the same time her eyes narrowed, mingled amusement and irritation. Actual bound books were indeed an outdated and inconvenient means of handling novels and such. Who wanted to lug around an entire book when a fairy could carry a thousand books on one small crystal? But leave it to Foaly to have enough nostalgia for an old style to want to invent a way to bring it back. And speaking of Foaly—backstabbing centaur who went around aiding and abetting in the production of such gross atrocities as this novel—he was so dead.
"—but the LEP wants everyone to rest assured that all is under control."
Holly blinked, startled from her thoughts, and her gaze quickly returned to the television.
"Again, the escaped are three demons and a goblin," said Corporal Lili Frond. Frond, as always, was immaculate, in full dress uniform, makeup perfectly applied. Currently she was wearing the grave expression she always adopted when charged with making some announcement on behalf of the LEP. Over the years, Corporal Frond had become something like the unofficial public-relations fairy for the LEP. Holly could only suppose the LEP had discovered that bad news was often accepted more gracefully when it came from a pretty mouth.
"The goblin has since been identified as F'Skell Savant," Frond continued. "The only goblin ever accepted into the LEP training program, later dropped when he was convicted of appropriating LEP equipment and selling it on the black market. The demons are alleged members of a faction that has recently arisen within the demon community, which is calling for a return to the societal structure practiced for centuries on Hybras. These four violators have not been successfully tracked down and apprehended as of yet, but according to Recon Commander Trouble Kelp, it is only a matter of time. If anyone has any information, please contact the LEP immediately at the com-code you see on your screen."
There's that demon and goblin thing again, Holly thought. It wasn't as though it was much different than what the LEP usually had to deal with, especially in Holly's line of work, but the fact that it was taking so long to resolve was a bit worrying. Suspicious, even. Demons and goblins didn't generally get along, and a goblin didn't have the brains to evade the LEP without slipping up eventually. Demons were, in general, a cleverer bunch, but they hadn't been back in this dimension a full year, and couldn't have the reserve of experience and know-how to help them get around the LEP's net.
Holly shrugged to herself just as Frond's expression shifted from the obviously plastered-on look of grim concern to one of enthusiasm.
"Now, next on the agenda, high command is talking about changing the color of the standard LEP uniform yet again. Some have suggested a light beige—"
And somehow, Frond had managed to sneak fashion into the report. Maybe the current blue didn't go with her eyes.
Holly moved to change the channel so quickly that she nearly dropped the remote. But as her finger found the down arrow again, she hesitated, then hit power instead and the screen clicked off. The programming was not going to improve the longer she sat here, going endlessly around the circuit. She didn't really feel like watching television anyway.
Come on, she thought, staring at the blank screen. There has to be something to do. She refused to let her eyes wander to the novel again.
I could just go back to bed, she thought wryly. The ache in her limbs and in the back of her head was telling her that wouldn't be such a bad idea. The only problem there was Holly knew that, if she went back to her room and fell down on her futon, she would just lie there, staring at the ceiling the same as she had all that morning. She needed some distraction, some activity, so her thoughts wouldn't have time to wander.
Holly sighed and was suddenly glad she had the thing with Trouble that evening to look forward to. That would take her mind off things.
Holly suddenly smiled. Maybe, she thought, that had been Trouble's plan all along: force her to take the day off so she would be bored out of her mind and desperate for something to do by the time they met.
Holly blinked then, surprised at herself. She shook her head. No, that wasn't Trubs' style at all. Trouble Kelp was always straight-forward and direct in everything he did, so even a manipulation as small and harmless as that wouldn't even occur to him. A strategy of that kind was more like the kind of arrangement Artemis would try to set up, if he was so inclined. Besides, for Trouble's part, there wouldn't be any particular motivation behind it. No matter how many snide comments Foaly or other coworkers liked to drop around the office these days, her and Trouble's relationship was simply not like that.
It was several months ago now that Trouble had first asked her out. Not a week after he'd read her the riot act for going back in time without the LEP's say-so, he'd happened to see her passing by his office and called her in for an informal chat, the first real chat they'd had since she returned from Hybras. They'd reminiscenced a little about the old times, recalling past missions and how life had been under Julius Root, and the next thing she knew, Trouble was suggesting the two of them go hang out somewhere the next evening.
Holly had been as off-handed and nonchalant in agreeing as he had been in asking her, but she had gone home smiling and, for the first time since Hybras, she felt like something was going right. However, her thoughts were far from what her annoying associates at the LEP would soon be imagining.
The fact was, when Holly had come back from Hybras, she'd felt a little abandoned. Everyone she had known seemed to have moved on, and had lives she wasn't a part of anymore. There was Foaly with his new wife, Mulch with his new partner. And, of course, Trouble with his new position. Out of all the fairies she'd left behind, Trouble had been the most distant, and for weeks he didn't speak to her about anything that wasn't work-related, and they never talked at all outside LEP Headquarters.
So when Trouble started talking about old memories, and invited her to hang out, Holly had been relieved and overjoyed. Trouble had been one of her best friends, someone she could rely on to have her back even when she was in hot water with the Council or caught up in another potential global catastrophe. And after the disastrous mission to the past, she needed a friend in the worst way.
So, over a CSI-type thriller they did nothing but ridicule and a couple of greasy veggie burgers, they rekindled their friendship. Unfortunately, Holly had been a little too excited, and after that first outing, she had found herself relaying every detail to Foaly the next day. A costly mistake, as it would turn out. Between her average coworker and Foaly, Holly was about driven up a wall with clever boyfriend comments, especially since they were not only irritating, they made her feel a little uneasy.
The real fact was, which she would not have admitted to Foaly if the entire planet was on fire and she about to be pushed into an active volcano, Holly didn't even want to think about the concept of romance right now after her episode with Artemis. Thinking about that was still as raw and uncomfortable a few months later as it was when it had first happened, and she felt a hot spark of shame prick her chest whenever a memory from that time lashed out at her. Holly had decided to deal with this psychological-scarring-waiting-to-happen by thinking about the ordeal as little as possible, and studiously trying to avoid everything that might remind her of it.
In any case, Holly didn't think a date should have to be of the stereotypical variety found in cheap chick-flicks or sappy daytime dramas, with elaborate finery, clinking champagne glasses, or awkward smiles and clumsy attempts at conversation. A date could just be going somewhere and having a good time with a friend, even if the majority of the gossips working at the LEP were not so enlightened.
The fact our relationship is so straight-forward and easy is what I like best about it, Holly thought. I really need a few relationships like that in my life.
Speaking of which.
Holly sighed deeply, and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. She leaned back into the couch, massaging her temples.
The part of this whole thing that tried her patience almost beyond the point of endurance was that apparently even Artemis was inclined to jump on the Let's-all-make-boyfriend-cracks-at-Holly bandwagon. Every once in a while he would drop some sly comment about bivouacs or Trouble's supposed animosity toward Orion, and she would have the sudden urge to knock out his teeth. Unlike with Foaly or some overly nosy sprite she happened to be passing in the hall, with Artemis, she didn't dare vehemently deny the accusation, or patiently explain that, no, their relationship was not like that, and would he please shut up and mind his own business. Holly couldn't stand the thought of the self-satisfied, egotistical expression he would probably get on his face. So, he might say. You wanted me specifically to be aware of that, did you Holly? How very flattering. And if that happened, she knew she would feel like she had somehow fallen into his trap.
I am seriously going to make you pay for every one of those snippy little comments, Artemis Fowl, Holly thought. Just you wait. I should have milked it for all it was worth when Minerva visited you at the clinic a few months ago. But I promise, next time she comes around...
Holly stopped. At the thought of Minerva and that visit back in the depths of winter, she grew sober again.
That time, Minerva had been allowed into Haven just as Angeline had. As she had been coming back from her private visit with Artemis and about to leave the clinic, she and Holly had had a kind of conversation. It was a conversation that had told Holly so much, yet nothing at all, and over the months it had played against her will in her mind again and again as she searched for better understanding of Artemis's disease.
Holly pressed her fingers to her temples. There now, you've gotten yourself thinking about the stupid mental illness again. You're trying not to think about it, idiot.
Holly's eyes drifted irresistibly to the book once again.
Don't. Don't look at it. Don't think about it.
But maybe it has answers, she argued with herself. Flowery and nauseating as a book entitled Noble Heart probably was, it was written by Artemis. A deluded, dormant part of his psyche brought to life by a mental illness, maybe, but it was still him. Perhaps, underneath all that nonsense, she might find something out about the way Artemis's mind worked, and about his condition.
The real reason she tried not to think about the Complex was because every time she did, every time she laid awake nights staring at the ceiling as she tried to figure out what she might do to help her friend, the more she would feel a deep sense of helplessness settle over her, her thoughts spiraling down into a kind of oppressive anxiety that she could not escape. Because, no matter what direction her mind went in, she would always reach a dead end, and find herself trapped by the certainty that there was nothing she could do, not without running the risk of making his condition worse. But if Holly could do something, figure things out so she could say she understood her friend just as well—or better—than Minerva Paradizo...
Holly gingerly picked up the book, rotating it back over to the front. However, seeing the embarrassing sunset cover again, she suddenly felt slightly self-conscious.
I'm just curious, she thought defensively, as though trying to explain herself to an incredulous or mocking coworker. There's nothing wrong with that. Holly added to herself, further steeling her resolve, Besides, if I have been written into it as a character, anyone would tell me I'm better off learning what Orion said about me from the source, instead of waiting to get all the gory details from Foaly and Mulch.
Holly shot a furtive glance over her shoulder at the closed door. Then, almost guiltily, she carefully pried open the cover. Inside, Holly found an author's note addressed to the reader, and even though it was written in the same ridiculous style she'd caught a glimpse of the day before, what she saw there sent an inexplicable chill down her spine.
A/N: The Opal-Spiro conversation in this and in chapter four were originally meant to be one chapter, but I thought it would work better split up, since it seemed a little long just as one chunk. (The Holly-scene was originally just a short snippet, but it got longer and longer as I thought of new things to add.)
So, once again, this chapter is mostly for plot-setup purposes, so not much happened. We'll get to more of that next chapter; I think for that reason chapter four has always been one of my favorites to work on for this story.
So then, thank you so much for reviewing the last few chapters! I really appreciate the feedback, and even if all you can think of to say is that you read it, I love that, too. (Criticism is also always welcome. A big part of why I enjoy taking on projects like these is the chance to learn and improve, and I know there are always going to be so many blind spots that a set of fresh eyes will pick up in an instant.)
Thanks for reading! If you have a chance, let me know what you thought, and hope to see you next chapter! (And once again, TONS of thanks to levina, for helping getting this monster ready to put up. Blood, sweat, and tears, that's all I can say.)
Posted 10/10/12
Edited 5/28/13: Reworked the second section of this chapter extensively to trim it down, and make the flow more natural. (I cut things I decided were extraneous, such as the explanation on Holly's lack of a dating life, and switched Holly's initial cursory examination of NH to present tense.
Edited 12/19/13: I reworked the last section of this chapter yet again, mainly to smooth out the passages that were still feeling awkward. I cut the scene down by about 1600 words.
Edited September 2014: Since I'd been in a major rewriting mood, I rewrote the first section with Opal and Spiro, shortening it by about 2300 words. The scene was so long, with so much excess wording, I figured it was worth a substantial revisit.