Artemis and Holly exited the time stream and entered ten-year-old Artemis’s study. Physically this was a gentle enough experience, like jumping from a low wall onto thick carpet, but emotionally this particular trip was like a ten-minute blitz of the worst memories of their lives. The time stream: never the same ride twice.
Holly cried for her mother for a minute, but eventually the persistent chiming of a grandfather clock reminded her of where and when she was. She stood shakily and looked around her to find Artemis lurching toward the wardrobe. The sight of him cheered her a little.
“You have really let yourself go,” she said.
Artemis was rummaging through the clothes on the rail.
“Of course nothing will fit,” he muttered. “All too small.”
Holly elbowed past him. “Not for me,” she said, pulling a dark suit from its hanger.
“My first suit,” said Artemis fondly. “For the family Christmas postcard. I had no idea really how to wear it. I remember fidgeting throughout the fitting. It’s a Zegna, custom made.”
Holly tore off a protective polyethylene wrap. “So long as it fits.”
It was only then that Artemis’s emotions settled enough for him to register Holly’s comment.
“What do you mean, I have let myself go?”
Holly swung the wardrobe door so that its mirrored side faced Artemis.
“See for yourself,” she said.
Artemis looked. In the mirror he saw a tall, slender boy, his face all but invisible under a wild mop of shoulder-length hair and even some bristles on his chin.
“Ah. I see.”
“I’m surprised you do,” said Holly. “Through all that hair.”
“Accelerated aging. A side effect of the time stream,” Artemis hypothesized, unconcerned. “When we return, the effects should be reversed.” He paused, catching sight of Holly’s reflection. “Perhaps you should check yourself in the mirror. I am not the only one to have changed.”
Holly elbowed him aside, certain she was being kidded, but the half-smile died on her lips when she saw the fairy in the looking glass. It was her own face, but different, missing a few scars and a few decades’ wear and tear.
“I am young,” she gasped. “Younger.”
“Don’t be upset,” said Artemis briskly. “It is temporary. All this is nothing more than dress-up. My physical maturity, your youth. In a moment or two we will be back in the stream.”
But Holly was upset. She knew how this had happened.
I was thinking of Mother. Of our last hours together. Of how I was then.
And so that was how she had changed.
Look at me. Just out of the academy. In human terms, barely older than Artemis.
For some reason, this was a disturbing thought.
“Get some pants on,” she snapped, buttoning a crisp white shirt up to her neck. “Then we can discuss your theories.”
Artemis used his extra inches to reach up and tug a large box from the top of the wardrobe. In it were neatly folded layers of clothes, destined for one of Angeline Fowl’s charity shops.
He tossed a silver wig to Holly.
“Seventies fancy dress party,” he explained. “Mother went as a starship trooper, I seem to remember. Now cover those pointy ears.”
“A hat would be easier,” said Holly, pulling the wig over her auburn crew cut.
“No such luck, I’m afraid,” sighed Artemis, selecting an old tracksuit from the box. “This is not exactly Harrods; we will have to make do.”
Artemis’s old loafers fit Holly well enough, and there were a pair of his father’s sneakers in the box, which stayed on his feet when the toes were stuffed.
“Always good to be dressed when you’re stealing monkeys,” said Holly.
Artemis rolled up the tracksuit sleeves. “There’s no need to dress at all, really. We simply wait for a few minutes, until my mother almost catches Butler sneaking upstairs with the lemur. I remember him sliding the cage through the doorway, then I brought her back upstairs. The moment that cage comes in here, we grab it, take off these ridiculous clothes, and wish our way back to No1.”
Holly checked herself in the mirror. She looked like a presidential bodyguard—from another planet. “That sounds so simple.”
“It was simple. Will be. Butler never even entered the study. All we need to do is stand here and wait.”
“And how did you find this particular moment?”
Artemis swept a sheaf of black hair back from his brow, revealing mismatched sorrowful eyes.
“Listen,” he said, pointing toward the ceiling.
Holly tucked strands of silver hair behind one ear and cocked her head to one side to focus her considerable sense of hearing. She heard the grandfather clock, and the time travelers’ beating hearts, but above them there was a strident, hysterical voice.
“Mother,” said Artemis, eyes downcast. “It was the first time that she did not recognize me. She is at this moment threatening to call the police. In a moment she runs downstairs to the phone, and discovers Butler.”
Holly understood. How could any son forget a moment like that one? Finding it again must have been easy and painful.