“Yes.”
“Not many kraken left now,” commented Artemis. “Seven, by my reckoning.”
“Seven?” said Holly, surprised. “We’re only tracking six.”
“Ah, yes, six. I meant six. New suit?” he asked, changing the subject a little too quickly.
“Three years more advanced than the last one,” replied Holly, filing the kraken tidbit for investigation at a later time. “It has autoarmor. If the sensors feel something big coming, the entire suit flexes to cushion the blow. It saved my life once today already.”
A message icon beeped in Holly’s helmet, and she took a moment to read the short text.
“No1 is on the way. They’re sending the Section Eight shuttle. No way to contain this now, so whatever we need to do has to be done fast.”
“Good. I need all the help I can get.”
Their conversation petered out as Angeline Fowl’s deathly illness completely occupied their thoughts. She radiated pallor, and the smell of lilies hung yellow in the air.
Artemis fumbled the Webcam and it rolled under the bed.
“Hellfire,” he swore, kneeling to reach an arm into the dark space. “I can’t . . . I just can’t . . .”
And suddenly the enormity of the situation struck him hard.
“What kind of son am I?” he whispered. “A liar and a thief. All my mother has ever done was love me and try to protect me, and now she may die.”
Holly helped Artemis to his feet.“You’re not that person anymore, Artemis, and you love your mother, don’t you?”
Artemis huffed, embarrassed. “Yes. Of course.”
“Then you are a good son. And your mother will see that as soon as I cure her.”
Holly clicked her neck, and magical sparks leaped from her fingertips, spinning in an inverted cone.
“No,” blurted Artemis. “Wouldn’t it be wise to check the symptoms first?”
Holly closed her fist, smothering the sparks. Suspicious.
She took off her helmet and stepped close to Artemis, closer than he liked people to be, staring hard into his mismatched eyes. It was strange to see her own eye looking back at her.
“Have you done something, Artemis?”
Artemis met her gaze steadily. It seemed that there was nothing in his eyes but sadness.
“No. I am more cautious with my mother than I would be with myself, that is all.”
Holly’s suspicion was born of years of experience with Artemis, and so she wondered why he would be reluctant to allow her to use magic now, when it had never bothered him before. Perhaps he had already tried this route himself. Perhaps the time stream had not stripped him of his stolen magic, as he had claimed.
She clamped her hands to the side of Artemis’s head, then laid her forehead against his.
“Stop this, Holly,” objected Artemis. “We have no time.”
Holly did not answer, closing her eyes, concentrating. Artemis felt heat spread across his skull and the familiar buzz of magic. Holly was probing him. It lasted barely a second.
“Nothing,” she said, releasing him. “Echoes of magic. But no power.”
Artemis stumbled backward, dizzy.
“I understand your suspicion, Holly. I have earned it repeatedly. Now, would you please examine my mother.”
Holly realized that up to this point she had avoided doing anything more than take a cursory glance at Angeline Fowl. This entire situation brought back too many painful memories.
“Of course, Artemis. I’m sorry about the probe. I had to be sure that I could take all of this on face value.”
“My feelings are not important,” said Artemis, leading Holly by the elbow. “Now, my mother. Please.”
Holly had to force herself to properly examine Angeline Fowl, and the moment she did, a deep-rooted dread sent pins and needles fluttering up and down her limbs.
“I know this,” she whispered. “I know it.”
“This condition is familiar to you?” asked Artemis.
His mother’s face and arms were coated with a clear gel, which oozed from her pores and then steamed away. Angeline’s eyes were wide, but only the whites were visible, and her fingers clutched the sheets as though hanging on to life.
Holly took a medi-kit from her belt, placed it on the bedside table, and used a swab to take a sample of the gel. “This gel. That smell. It can’t be. It can’t.”
“It can’t be what?” asked Artemis, his fingers tight on her forearm.
Holly ignored him, slipping her helmet on and opening a channel to Police Plaza.
“Foaly? Are you there?”
The centaur responded on the second buzz. “Right here, Holly. Chained to the desk. Commander Kelp has sent me a couple of mails asking where you are. I fobbed him off with the Ritual story. I reckon you have about—”
Holly interrupted his chatter. “Foaly, listen to me.
Artemis’s mother. I think we have something . . . I think it’s bad.”
The centaur’s mood changed instantly. Holly suspected that he had been waffling to hide his anxiety. After all, Artemis’s message had been very grim.