Animal fat, she realized with a spasmodic shudder of horror. Pure rendered fat with a few hexes stirred into it.
Animal fat had been used as a magic suppressor for millennia. Even the most powerful warlock was helpless when dipped in rendered fat. You throw a warlock in a barrel of fat, seal it with woven willow bark, and bury it in a consecrated human graveyard, then that warlock is as helpless as a kitten in a sack. The experience would be made even more terrible by the fact that most fairies are devout vegetarians and would be perfectly aware of how many animals had to die to produce an entire barrel of fat.
Who told Butler about this? Holly wondered. Who is controlling him?
Then No1 was jammed in beside her, and the fat level rose to cover their heads. Holly surged upward, clearing her eyes just in time to see a lid bearing down on the barrel mouth, eclipsing the ceiling light.
No helmet, she lamented. I wish I had my helmet.
Then the lid was on and sealed. The fat found the neck hole in her one-piece and wormed inside, probing her face and invading her ears. Hexes swirled like malevolent snakes, keeping her magic at bay.
Lost, thought Holly. The worst death I can imagine. Sealed in a small space. Like my mother.
No1 convulsed beside her. The little warlock must feel like his soul was being sucked right out of him.
Holly panicked. She kicked and fought, bruising her elbows and tearing the skin from her knees. Where magic tried to heal her wounds, the hex snakes zoomed in, swallowing the sparks.
She almost opened her mouth to scream. The merest thread of reason stopped her. Then something brushed against her face. A corrugated tube. There were two.
Breathing tubes . . .
With frantic fingers, Holly felt her way to the end of a tube. She fought her natural instinct to jam it into No1’s mouth.
In the event of an emergency, always take care of yourself first before you attend to civilians.
So Holly used her absolute last puff of air to clear the pipe as a diver would clear his snorkel. She imagined blobs of fat spraying the room outside.
I hope Butler’s suit is ruined, she thought.
No choice now but to inhale. Air whistled down to her, mixed with wormy slivers of fat. Holly blew again, clearing the last traces of gunk.
Now for No1. His wriggling grew weaker as his power waned. For someone with such power, this dunking must be almost intolerable. Holly blocked her own tube with a thumb, then cleared the second one before twisting it into No1’s slack mouth. For a moment there was no reaction, and she thought it was too late; then No1 jerked, spluttered, and started, like an old engine on a frosty morning.
Alive, thought Holly. We are both alive. If Butler wanted us dead, then we already would be.
She braced her feet on the base of the barrel and hugged No1 tightly. Calm was needed here.
Calm, she broadcast, though she knew No1’s empathy would be muted. Calm, little friend. Artemis will save us.
If he is alive, she thought but did not broadcast.
*
Artemis backed away from the nightmare version of his mother that hovered before him. Jayjay screeched and bucked in his arms, but Artemis held him tightly, automatically scratching the tiny brush of hair on his crown.
“Hand over that creature,” demanded Opal. “You have no choice.”
Artemis circled Jayjay’s neck with his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, I think I have a choice.”
Opal was horrified. “You wouldn’t kill an innocent creature.”
“I did it before.”
Opal studied his eyes. “I don’t think you would do it again, Artemis Fowl. My fairy intuition tells me that you are not as coldhearted as you pretend to be.”
It was true. Artemis knew he couldn’t harm Jayjay, even to derail Opal’s plans. Still, no reason to tell Opal that.
“My heart is cold, pixie. Believe it. Use some of that magical empathy to search my soul.”
His tone gave Opal pause. There was steel there, and he was hard to read. Perhaps she should not gamble so recklessly with him.
“Very well, human. Hand over the creature and I will spare your friends.”
“I have no friends,” Artemis shot back, though he knew it was a transparent bluff. Opal had been here for a few days at least. She had doubtless highjacked the manor’s surveillance and security.
Opal/Angeline scratched her chin. “Hmm, no friends. Apart from the LEP elf who accompanied you to the past, and of course the demon warlock who sent you back. Not to mention your big burly bodyguard.”
Alliteration, thought Artemis. She’s toying with me.
“Then again,” mused Opal/Angeline, “Butler is not really your friend anymore. He’s mine.”
This was a worrying statement, and perhaps true. Artemis, usually an expert interpreter of body language and telltale tics, was flummoxed by this crazed version of his mother.
“Butler would never willingly befriend you!”
Opal shrugged. It was a fair point. “Who said anything about willingly?”