(And, you can always skip to the good parts)

Okay guys, I know it's been a while since I've posted, but I recently found my flash drive with my novel on it, so I've been a little pre-occupied.

Also, I haven't checked my email in forever, so if you reviewed or subscribed, thanks. Unless it was a negative review. For that, I give you a frowny face. :(

Please review!

Love you all, TheModernChromatic.

*******

Butler sat back against the wall like a great fallen tree, decayed and defeated, yet still grand and gigantic. His huge shoulders slumped in defeat, and he hung his head to the setting sun, the scrap of fabric he discovered still in his hand. It didn't matter that he was hungry and needed water badly. Those, he thought, were just burdens he didn't need. Artemis was his main priority, and he was missing right now. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to get Artemis back. This was more than just a job. Without Artemis there to guide him, he could think of but one thing to do.

Hours later, he found himself pacing about Artemis's quarters, scratching his chin and wishing he had something other than a scrap of fabric to track down a potential murderer. He sat himself on the floor and closed his eyes, trying to remember what had happened.

There was the guests--there was so many of them! And all of them deceitful and sinister in their own way, enough to gain attention from the Fowl family. But no, he'd been monitoring Artemis so he'd only have to make an appearance, and not socialize with anyone. Artemis hated socializing. But he didn't mind the corners, or the punch-bowl. That was where they'd been. By the punch bowl. Then, there was the blackness--could that be from unconciousness? Nay, there was still adrenaline in that blackness... the lights must have gone out. And there was the knife--he'd had the knife out in case.

Whoever had gotten to him blindsided him though, because Butler found himself unable to conjure up anything more. All he had now was a scrap of green fabric. What had he missed, letting his guard down like that? Surely he'd have seen any possible assailants. But no. All he had was green fabric and one option. He had to contact the only people able to track down Artemis where ever he might be. The People.

*******

"Hold still, would you?" I say, tugging on River's hair, "I can't work with you moving like that!" River seemed to growl at me but stopped pulling away.

Here was I, Sofie Hart, getting a fork out of River's ridiculously glossy, smooth, perfect, yet tangle-able hair. A fork that Artemis Fowl had oh-so-cleverly thrown at me. Naturally, River jumped forward to take the hit--she'd been working as a bodyguard for several months now that her cases had stopped coming in.

Inside my lab, Artemis was still laughing in spite of himself.

Currently, I was learning two important things: don't pressure Artemis when he's been locked up for an extended period of time, and don't give him shit-oatmeal with a metal fork in it. That, and shit-oatmeal can adhere itself to anything, including River's hair. Better make that three important things.

"Argh!" River howls, as she yanks her head away from my hand.

"I've had it with that little brat." Spat River, massaging water into her hair trying to get the oatmeal out. I stared dumbly at the fork in my hand, the tips still covered in hair and oatmeal. There's the slightest patch of hair missing from River's head.

"Hi-ho!" cries a loud voice from the depths of the main room. I wince a bit as River turns, hoping the fork in my hand isn't about to be embedded in my neck along with River's hair by owner of that said hair. Luckily, I am saved by Rasta, who bursts into the room with his usual cheeriness.

"Well if it isn't my two favorite girls," he grins, and messes with our hair, "Sofie, dear, how's that crabby little Artemis Fowl behaving for you?"

"Like a crab," River supplies, rubbing the back of her head.

"He threw a fork in her hair." I shrug.

Rasta's booming laugh shakes the house.

"Not cooperating then, eh?" He chuckles.

"Actually," says I, "He just got a little impatient. He's fine other than that."

"What do you mean?" Rasta asks, furrowing his brow, all traces of laughter gone. This is clearly not what he expected.

"I mean he's willing to help us."

Rasta says nothing. He simply walks out of the room.

Seconds later, he comes back in.

"So you're saying he's going to help us?"

"Yeah, she said that, in case you missed it the first time," River says.

"You know what this means?"

"Uh..." I look around, confused.

"It means he's going to trick us."