“Maybe. Now, enough changing the subject. What did you just do to me?”
No1 cleared his throat. “Well, I gave you a magical makeover. Your bones are less brittle, your joints are lubed. I bolstered your immune system, and cleared out your synapses, which were getting a little clogged with magical residue. I filled your tank with my own personal blend of power, and made your hair a little more lustrous than it already is, and bolstered your protection rune so you will never be possessed again. I want you to be safe and well until I come back.”
Holly squeezed her friend’s fingers. “Don’t worry about me. Routine operations only.”
Routine operations only, thought Holly now, groggy from the impact and also the magic coursing through her system, repairing her fractured collarbone and knitting the lattice of slices in her skin.
The magic would have liked to shut her down for repairs, but Holly could not allow that. She pawed the first aid pack from its niche on her belt and slapped an adrenaline patch onto her wrist, the hundreds of tiny needles releasing the chemical into her bloodstream. An adrenaline shot would keep her alert while allowing the magic to do its work. The Cupid’s cab was smashed, and only the vehicle’s toughened exoskeleton had prevented a total collapse that would have crushed the passengers. As it was, the shuttle had ridden its last magma flare. In the back of the vehicle, Butler was shrugging off the concussion that was threatening to drag him to oblivion, and Artemis lay wedged into the floor space between seats like a discarded action figure.
I like you, Artemis, Holly thought. But I need Butler.
And so Butler got the first shot of healing magic, a bolt that hit the bodyguard like a charged defibrillator, sending him spasming through the back window to the meadow beyond.
Wow, thought Holly. Nice brew, No1.
She was more careful with Artemis, flicking a drop of magic from her fingertip onto the middle of his forehead. Still, the contact was enough to set his skin rippling like pond water.
Something was coming. Holly could see the doubly distorted images through the shattered windows and her cracked visor. A lot of somethings. They looked small but moved surely.
I don’t get it. I am not getting it yet.
No1’s magic completed its healing journey through her system, and, as the blood cleared from her left eye, Holly got a good look at what was coming her way.
A menagerie, she thought. Butler can handle it.
But then No1’s magic allowed her a flickering glimpse of the souls floating like tattered translucent kites in the air, and she remembered the stories her father had told her so many times.
The bravest of the brave. Left behind to protect the gate.
Berserkers, Holly realized. The legend is true. If they take Butler, we are finished.
She crawled over Artemis through the back window, and rolled into the trough carved out by the Cupid’s crash, freshly scythed earth crumbling over her head. For a moment Holly had the irrational fear that she was being buried alive, but then the tumbling earth rattled past her limbs and she was clear.
Holly felt the throbbing afterpain of a healed break in her shoulder, but otherwise she was physically fine.
My vision is still blurred, she realized. Why?
But it was not her vision, it was the helmet’s lenses, which were cracked.
Holly raised her visor and was greeted by the crystal-clear sight of an attacking force being led by Artemis’s little brothers, which seemed to include a phalanx of ancient, armored warriors, and various woodland animals.
Butler was on all fours beside her, shaking off the magic fugue like a grizzly bear shaking off river water. Holly found another adrenaline patch in her pack and slapped it onto his exposed neck.
Sorry, old friend. I need you operational.
Butler jumped to his feet as though electrified, but swayed, disoriented, for a moment.
The assortment of possessed figures halted suddenly, arranged in a semicircle—obviously itching to attack but held at bay for some reason.
Little Beckett Fowl was at the forefront of the motley group, but he seemed less a child now, carrying himself as he did with a warrior’s swagger, a fistful of bloody reeds swinging in his grip. The vestiges of No1’s magic allowed Holly to glimpse the spirit of Oro lurking inside the boy.
“I am a fairy,” she called in Gnommish. “These humans are my prisoners. You have no quarrel with us.”
Opal Koboi’s voice drifted over the ranks. “Prisoners? The big one doesn’t appear to be a prisoner.”
“Koboi,” said Butler, coherent at last. Then the big bodyguard noticed his sister in the group. “Juliet! You’re alive.”
Juliet stepped forward, but awkwardly, as though not familiar with her own workings. “Braddur,” she said, her voice cracked and strangely accented. “Embrash me.”