6

Opal was out of magic and it was damned inconvenient. She made do though. Science and technology were her new magic after all. And she borrowed a page from Artemis Fowl's philosophy book. Gold is power. The motto that had driven the young human mastermind translated universally across all cultures.

The renegade pixie was able to secure a fair amount of currency for herself after using the dead Italian woman's meager life savings to purchase a notebook computer and a cheap hotel room for a night. She didn't stay the whole night, of course. Just long enough to create an account and transfer all of the money from her Zito accounts into it. Then she was on the run again. Her destination: Ireland.

AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF

Finding fairy bugs on his computers was relatively simple now that Artemis knew what to look for. His usual spyware scans couldn't detect the foreign programs, so Artemis was reduced to looking through the coding for every single file on his computers manually.

So far he'd found over a dozen programs written in Gnommish programming languages.

"Foaly, you meddlesome quadruped," Artemis muttered darkly. He still couldn't bring himself to like the centaur, even though he had acted quite amiably to Artemis and Butler during their brief stay in Haven, and had seemed genuine about wanting to be friends. Foaly seemed to be under the impression that they had been on their way to becoming friends before Artemis had been mindwiped, but Artemis had serious doubts about that. There were three main things that no one messed with unless they wanted to be subjected to Artemis Fowl's ire. One: his brain. Two: his gold. And three: his computers. Foaly had screwed with two out of the three, and therefore some retaliation was called for.

However, that would have to wait.

The fairy communicator that Holly had given him began to vibrate. Artemis opened it and smiled at Holly. "Hello, again," he greeted her.

Holly, who had been smiling, suddenly frowned. "What are you up to Artemis?" she demanded.

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked innocently.

"I recognize that devious grin. You're plotting something."

"I am always plotting something. It's my nature."

Holly rolled her eyes. "Well?" she asked. "What have you got for me?"

"Well," said Artemis, smiling lazily, "I reviewed the photographs of the room which you emailed me. Good thinking by the way, it saved me from having to request them now that we have a chance to talk again."

"You're not the only person in the world capable of intelligent thought, believe it or not, Mud Boy."

Artemis chose to ignore her interruption. Acknowledging it would only steal more of his thunder. "I reviewed all of the photos and your documentation of the security measures, and developed a strategy for how I personally would go about stealing a painting from this gallery."

"And?" prompted Holly.

"And I discovered that the painting either is in the possession of one Wheezy Grimeback. Very undignified name, by the way. Mr. Grimeback seems to be a fence, however, thus is not the actual culprit. You'll want to check the handwriting on the address label to be sure, of course, but I'm fairly confident that you'll find that the thief is Mr. Grimeback's niece, Muddy Phlegmholme, an employee of the art gallery. As cliché as it is to say this, it was an inside job, Holly."

Holly's expression bordered on incredulous. "Do I even want to know how you came to these conclusions? Or found out the culprits' names?"

"I merely used the People's version of the internet," said Artemis. "All the information was out in the open, no hacking necessary. Or almost no hacking, at least. All I needed to do was make a few alterations to this wonderful phone you provided me with."

Holly groaned. "Artemis . . ."

"I didn't do anything illegal, you have my word," Artemis told her.

"You better not. Because if you do it's my neck that's on the line."

"I know," Artemis told her. "And I won't do anything to get you in trouble, Holly. Now would you like to know how Ms. Phlegmholme was able to remove the painting from the premises without being detected?"

Holly took the bait. Her eyes lit up and she promptly became the perfect audience for Artemis's reveal. "I'm listening, Mud Boy."

Artemis gave Holly his best vampire smile. "She mailed it out."

Holly blinked. "Say again?"

Artemis obliged. "She mailed it," he repeated. "Knowing that she could never get it past the guards or security cameras at the entrance, she removed the painting from its frame, took it into the gallery's office, packaged it in a tube, and doctored the day's shipping log so it showed three items being mailed via the LE Post, instead of two."

"LE Post? She had it sent through regular mail?" Holly asked incredulously.

"While it is much less reliable than specialized couriers, it's also much more difficult to trace," Artemis told her. "If she had mailed it to a PO box which had been paid for in cash, it is entirely possible she would have gotten away clean."

"You're sure this is what happened, Artemis?"

"I am," Artemis told her. "Ask your client to check the mail log for that day. The articles approved to be mailed out were a promotional poster, also in a mailing tube, and a bill in a flat envelope."

A grin spread across Holly's face as it started to sink in that she had her thief. "Thanks Artemis. I really appreciate this."

"You are very welcome. However, I have one thing I would like to request of you."

Holly's smile froze. No doubt she was preparing for the worst. "What's that?" she asked.

"If you get the chance, please taunt Ms. Phlegmholme about purchasing delivery confirmation for her smuggled package. That was monumentally stupid. It allowed me to track every step of the stolen painting's transport." Artemis shook his head. "And she calls herself an art thief."

Holly laughed out loud at that. "Will do, Mud Boy. And again, thanks."

Artemis made a waving motion with his left hand. "This isn't much to thank me for. Let me know if you come across something that's actually difficult."

A muscle twitched near Holly's eye. For some reason she looked a bit annoyed, though Artemis wasn't quite sure why. It couldn't have been anything he said. He was doing his utmost to be polite to her, after all. Maybe she was just tired. Artemis knew that he certainly was.

Footsteps sounded outside his room. Artemis glanced toward the door guiltily, then quickly shut his PowerBook. "Hang on, Holly," he said, hurrying toward his bed. "Someone's coming."

"Again?" Holly sighed. "We never get the chance to just talk."

Artemis gave her a strained smile then hid the device under his pillow and crawled under his covers. A moment later, the door opened, and in walked Artemis Fowl Sr, moving almost as easily on his artificial leg as he'd been able to before he lost it.

"Are you awake, son?" he asked, peering into the room.

"Yes, Father." Artemis sat up.

"Feeling any better?"

"A bit." The excuse that Artemis and Butler had given to his parents had been that he had indeed come down with food poisoning after all, and that everything in Germany, from the food to the smell of the hotel's soap only made him feel sick all over again. "I'll be ready to return to school soon. I promise."

Artemis Sr. frowned and made his way to the bed. Once he reached it, he put his hand on his son's head and looked at him with an expression Artemis Jr. wasn't familiar with. "Are you certain you won't reconsider transferring to a school that's closer to home, son? Your mother and I want you here with us."

Artemis had a hard time meeting his father's eyes. "St. Bartleby's is a tradition," he reminded him. "The Fowl heirs have gone there for generations."

"And over the course of those generations, we've lost sight of what's truly important." Fowl removed his hand from his son's head so that he could wrap his arms around his son and pull him close. "Family is worth more than money or gold, son. It took almost dying for me to realize that. And my greatest regret was coming home and seeing what you had become."

Artemis jerked out of his father's arms, as though the man's touch physically stung. He tried to keep his expression level, but some of the hurt must have shown through because his father held up a hand in a halting motion and quickly backtracked.

"I didn't mean that how it sounded," he said quickly.

"Of course," said Artemis tonelessly.

"It's important to me that you believe that." Artemis Sr. put a firm hand on his son's shoulder.

"Of course," repeated Artemis Jr.

"Son . . ."

"I said I believed you."

"I heard what you said. I'm just not convinced."

Wide cerulean eyes locked onto the older man's staring him down. "You don't believe me?"

"I . . ."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Yes," the elder Fowl said with certainty now that they were on more familiar ground, "you would." He knew this because he had taught his son the fine art of falsifying the truth himself.

"Hmm." Artemis tapped his chin. "I wonder where I could have picked up a skill like that?"

Fowl Sr. resisted the urge to succumb to anger and pulled his son into another hug. That effectively stunned the boy more than a slap across the face would have; something which to the elder Fowl's eternal shame, he knew for a fact. There had been a time when he thought minor acts of domestic violence were a suitable means of communication with his heir. Now, he felt his son's muscles freeze up in his embrace and felt a pang in his own chest as it started to sink in exactly what he had done to his son.

He'd already begun to regret leading his son into the life of crime, of course. He knew that it had taken part of young Artemis's childhood from him, forcing him to be the man of the house at age twelve, having to safeguard the family's fortune and care for his manically depressed mother. It had never occurred to him that what Artemis had lost perhaps couldn't be reclaimed.

His son could memorize Shakespearean verse after reading it once. He had learned upward of twenty languages, could understand any mathematical theorem put before him, and could teach himself to play any instrument. But he could not learn to relax in the arms of one of his parents when they hugged him and now Artemis Sr. wondered if he ever would. Was it really too late to change this boy? He'd molded him into the young man that was before him, after all. He should have been able to reshape his son's future and smooth away those worry lines that creased around his eyes. Yet even as his mind made this analogy, he realized that his metaphor was flawed. Artemis hadn't really been molded into his current state of being like he was made of clay. He'd been chiseled into it, as though he was made of stone.

"But is his heart made of stone too?" Fowl Sr. mused out loud.

Again, Artemis jerked out of her arms, this time shoving off his chest with his palms and ending up sprawled on the bed because of his lack of coordination. "What?" demanded the boy, a bit shrilly.

"Nothing," said his father quickly. "Nothing at all."

But Artemis wasn't having it. "What do you mean 'is my heart made of stone?'" the boy wanted to know. "What exactly do you think I am?"

"I didn't mean that how it sounded, son."

The lines around Artemis' eyes deepened and he looked away. "Of course," the boy muttered, crawling back under his covers.

Artemis Sr. winced. Their conversation seemed to be going in circles and now his son was trying to put an end to it.

"All I want, son," he said, reaching out to touch the boy's hair again, "is for you to be a normal boy." He waited for his son to respond with some indignant protest or snide comment, but none came. "I want you to be happy and healthy. Not as pale as death from spending all your time indoors, and with premature worry lines because you spend so much time glaring and frowning. You're just a child. You . . ." He trailed off as his son uttered a very soft sigh, and realized that the boy had actually fallen asleep. "Look at me, carrying on when you're feeling so ill."

He pulled the covers tighter around the boy's shoulders then stood. "Sleep well, Arty-boy." He paused. "Though I sometimes wonder if you're ever happy, even in your dreams."

Artemis's back was turned to him, so he didn't see the watery blue eyes snap open. The boy remained frozen until his father shut the bedroom door behind him, then gave a shaky sigh. He reached under the pillow, hoping that the soft fabrics had muffled his conversation with his father, so that Holly hadn't heard, but the moment he saw her face he knew that he wasn't that lucky.

Holly's expression was one that Artemis wasn't familiar with so it took him a few seconds to place it. It was pity, he realized with disgust, and he didn't know how to dispel it.

"You're crying," said Holly softly as Artemis searched for the right words.

"What? I most certainly am not," protested Artemis. He swabbed the back of his hand over his face, surprised to find moisture there that didn't belong. "I had an eyelash in my eye, that's all. Nothing more."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Holly asked tentatively.

"Talk about . . ." Artemis shook his head. "No, I do not want to talk about 'it' for there is no 'it' to discuss."

"Sometimes talking about your problems with a friend can help."

"Not hardly," scoffed Artemis. "I once wrote an article for World Psychology under the pseudonym Dr. Ira Shanelle debunking that very myth. Confiding in so-called friends merely fosters a sense of empathy and false conviction that your point of view is the correct one. Not to mention that more often than not, the alleged friend either initially believes, or comes to believe that their friend should have responded differently, but does not voice their opinion, making such conversations between friends about their problems nothing more than one sided complaining sessions."

Holly blinked, then shrugged. "If that's how you feel. But for whatever this is worth . . . I think your father would be very proud if he knew the real you."

Her words warmed him, but Artemis didn't quite know how to accept a compliment like that. If that was a compliment. She was saying it because she wanted to make him feel better, but if she was merely meaning to establish that as a fact, it could be considered arrogant to take it as praise. She might not even mean it . . . though she looked sincere enough.

"He doesn't know the real me though," said Artemis, moving to the heart of the matter and shelving his problem of interpreting compliments for the time being. "I don't even know the real me anymore."

"Well I know the real you," said Holly with so much certainty that Artemis could not help but believe her. "And I'm proud of you. That one spark of decency I asked you to blow on once in awhile . . . well it's become more of a glowing candle flame now. It makes me proud to know you."

Artemis' eyes went unfocused as the ghost images of a buried memory surfaced in his mind.

"Artemis? Hey, are you okay?"

"Hang on, Holly," Artemis said and set down the fairy communicator. He climbed out of bed, hurried to his desk, and retrieved a pen knife. Then he returned to his bed and picked up the communicator in one hand.

"Artemis, what are you doing with that knife?" demanded Holly, looking more than a little alarmed.

"It's okay," Artemis told her.

"Put that down, Mud Boy!" ordered Holly. "Right now."

Artemis looked at her confused.

"I will get Foaly to contact Butler if you don't put that knife down immediately," Holly told him. "Just put it down, Artemis. Don't do anything stupid."

Artemis looked at her oddly. "I'm fourteen, Holly. I've been allowed to handle sharp edged tools for awhile now. Butler himself gave me this pen knife. I think he'd prefer that I keep it on my person for self defense purposes, but –"

"Just put it down, okay?"

"One second," Artemis told her. "I promise not to cut myself." He set down the fairy communicator and pulled his pillow out of its case.

"Artemis, what are you doing?" demanded Holly.

"Retrieving something important."

"Retrieving . . ."

Artemis slit open a seam in his pillow that had already been restitched once before, then reached in and pulled out a small, padded package. He unwrapped the fairy coin that Holly had shot a hole into the center of over a year ago and held it in front of the communicator for her to see. "I kept it close," he told her and forced a smile. "Even though I knew I wouldn't remember it, I didn't want to let it go. So I had Butler conceal it here for me."

"Oh." Holly looked relieved. "That's good. Real good."

"I'll put the dangerous sharp edge away now," Artemis told her, after sliding the leather cord he'd strung through the coin over his head.

"That's not . . . never mind."

Artemis looked at her bemused as he returned the pen knife to his desk. "Is it all right for you to talk this long to me?" he asked. "I don't want you getting caught illegally boosting your transmitter, or overspending on this call."

"Yeah . . . I should go." But Holly looked reluctant.

"I shall endeavor to create a device capable of bypassing the limitations and expenses of these communicators," Artemis promised her. "That way you will indeed be able to call me just to say hello and not have to pay a hefty charge for the privilege."

"Oh yes, the privilege."

"Do you know how few people I answer the phone for?" Artemis asked her. "I don't even need all the fingers on one hand to count them. You are indeed privileged."

That made Holly laugh. "Believe me, I feel privileged. Until the next adventure, Mud Boy."

"Don't you mean disaster, Captain?"

Holly laughed and waved. "Take care."

AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF AF

Next update won't be before Friday. The Red Pyramid comes out tomorrow (new book by the author of the Percy Jackson books, if you didn't already know) and I've scraped together enough money to get a copy, since I was broke after buying my first computer. So I'll be reading that and working on some end of the year projects for school. But summer is near, and then I will be free! Liberated. Unbound. Without restrictions. Yeah. I love summer, lol.