But she could not succumb. Some of the demons may have been sucked up into the time tunnel, but there could be more left. The air shimmered and settled. Rivulets of dust and rock spilled from midair. Huge chasms yawned all around, with nothing below but red space. There was more emptiness now than land.
Most of the demons were gone. Most, but not all. Abbot alone was left, grinning maniacally, his sword extended before him.
“Hello, elf,” he said, and plunged the sword into Holly’s chest.
Holly felt the steel slide through the delicate membrane of elfin skin, between the eighth and ninth ribs, and lodge a millimeter below her heart. It was cold as ice and more painful than words can describe. She fell backward, slipping off the slick blade, crashing through the crust of ash. Blood poured out of her like water from a ruptured vessel. Her own heart did gravity’s work, emptying her veins with every beat.
“Magic,” she gasped through the pain.
Abbot was jubilant. “Magic cannot help you, elf. I’ve been working on this sword for a long time, in case the warlocks ever showed up. There’s enough enchantment in this steel to stop an entire magic circle.” He shook the sword as he talked. Spittle sprayed from his mouth, and Holly’s blood dripped from his blade, splattering lines on the ash.
Holly coughed, the action felt like it was splitting her in two. Magic could not help her here. There was only one person who could.
“Artemis,” she said, her voice weak and thin. “Artemis, help me.”
Artemis Fowl glanced her way briefly, then returned his gaze to the bomb’s timer, leaving Holly Short to die on the ground. Which she did.
CHAPTER 15
HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN
Artemis was hauling the bomb when the big shift came. The magical overspill hit him like a football tackle, driving him to his knees. For a moment his senses were completely overloaded and he was left gasping in a vacuum. Sight was first to return, distorted by tears and stars.
He checked the bomb’s timer. Three minutes to go, providing that the pattern did not disintegrate. He glanced to his left, where Qwan and No1 were returning to the business of conjuring, while over his right shoulder, Holly was holding whatever demons were left. All around, the world was vibrating itself out of this existence. The noise was hellacious and the smell coated the inside of his nostrils.
The bomb was heavy enough to make Artemis’s knuckles crack, and not for the first time, he wished Butler were at his side to take the strain. But he wasn’t at his side, and wouldn’t be again if Artemis did not get going. It was a simple plan: move the box to the plateau. Object A to point B. There was no sense thinking about it.
Then Holly got stabbed and the plan got a lot more complicated.
Artemis saw the blade going in out of the corner of his eye. And worse still, he heard the sound it made. A clean snick, like a key going into a lock.
This can’t be real, he thought. We have been through so much together for Holly to be taken so quickly.
The sound the sword made coming out of Holly was hideous beyond imagination. Artemis knew that he would take that sound to his grave.
Abbot was gloating now. “Magic cannot help you, elf. I’ve been working on this sword for a long time.”
Artemis sank to his haunches, fighting the urge to crawl to Holly’s side. Magic could not help Holly, but perhaps a combination of magic and science could. He forced himself to ignore the spurts of deep red blood seeping from her wound. There was nothing in Holly Short’s future but death.
Her current future. But the future could be changed.
No1 and Qwan had not seen the assault. They were deep in concentration, building the blue rings. Abbot was moving toward them now; the tip of his sword dripped blood on the ash like a leaky pen joining the dots to his next victims.
Holly spoke her last. “Artemis,” she said. “Artemis, help me.”
Artemis glanced at her. Once. Briefly. He shouldn’t have. The sight of his friend dying almost threw off his count. And right now, the count was the most important thing.
Holly died without a friend to hold her hand. Artemis felt her go, another gift of the magic. He kept on counting, brushing away the tears on his cheeks.
Keep counting. That’s all that matters.
Artemis rose and moved swiftly to his fallen friend. Abbot saw him go. He pointed the sword in Artemis’s direction.
“You’re next, Mud Boy. First the warlocks then you. Once you are gone, things will return to how they were.”
Artemis ignored him, nodding along with the count in his head, making sure not to rush. The count must be accurate or all was lost.
Abbot elbowed his way between Qwan and No1. They were so focused that they barely realized he was there. With two strokes of his cursed sword, the job was done. No1 fell backward, blue magic trailing from his fingers.
Qwan did not fall, because the tip of Abbot’s sword was keeping him upright.
Artemis did not look into Holly’s eyes. He could not. Instead, he pried the handgun from her hand and pointed it away from him.
Be careful now. Timing is everything.
Abbot yanked his sword from Qwan’s chest, and the small body slumped lifelessly to the ground. Three dead in less time than it would take to tie a shoelace.
Artemis ignored the last breaths, and the rhythmic crunching of ash that told him Abbot was coming. Not that the demon was trying to hide it.
“I’m back here, human. Why don’t you see if you can turn around in time.”
Artemis searched the volcano floor around Holly for footprints. There were many, but only two side by side, where Abbot had stood as he struck. All the while, he counted, remembering his own calculations.
An hour per second for a count of forty, followed by a deceleration to thirty minutes per second for a count of eighteen, then a slight jump backward in time, one minute per second back for a count of two. Then it repeats.
“Maybe I’ll keep you.” Abbot chuckled and prodded Artemis’s back with his sword. “It’d be nice to have a pet human around. I could teach you tricks.”
“I have a trick for you,” said Artemis, and he fired a single blast from the gun.
The blast exited the barrel, and then was whipped one minute into the past, just as Artemis had calculated it would. It faded from the present and emerged just in time to strike the ghostly image of Abbot as he drew back his sword to thrust it into Holly.
The Abbot of one minute ago was lifted and tossed against the crater wall.
The present-time Abbot had barely time to say “What just happened?” before he winked out of existence, no longer flesh, merely unrealized possibility.
“You didn’t kill my friends,” replied Artemis, though he was talking to himself. “That never happened.”
Artemis glanced down nervously. Holly was no longer there. Thank God.
Another quick glance told him that Qwan and No1 were back building their magic circle as if nothing had happened.
Of course not. Nothing did happen.
Artemis concentrated on the memory. Picturing Abbot spinning through the air. He wrapped the incident in magic to preserve it.
Remember, he told himself. What he had just done, now never had to be done, and so wasn’t done. Except, of course, he had done it. Time quandaries such as these should be forgotten for the sake of sanity, but Artemis was loath to surrender any of his memories.
“Hey,” said a familiar voice. “Don’t you have a job to do, Artemis?”
It was Holly. She was hog-tying Abbot with his own bootlaces.
Artemis could only stare at her and smile. He still felt the pain of her death, but that would heal quickly now that she was alive again.
Holly caught him smiling. “Artemis, could you get that box onto the plateau? It’s a simple plan.”
Artemis smiled some more, then shook himself. “Yes. Of course. Put the box on the plateau.”
Holly had been dead and now she was alive.
Artemis
’s hand tingled with the phantom memory of a gun it may or may not have held moments before.
There will be consequences for this, he thought. You can’t alter time and be unaffected. But whatever the consequences are, I will bear them, because the alternative is too terrible.
He returned to his mission, dragging the bomb the final few feet to the plateau. He knelt, put his shoulder into the casing and slotted the bomb between Qwan and No1’s legs. No1 didn’t even notice that Artemis was there. The little apprentice warlock’s eyes were solid blue now, flush with magic. The runes on his chest glowed, then began to move, swirling like snakes, slithering upward to his neck and swirling on his forehead like an enchanted Catherine wheel.
“Artemis! Give me a hand with this!”
It was Holly, struggling to roll Abbot’s unconscious body across the bumpy crater. With each revolution, the demon’s horns got snagged in the earth, plowing a small furrow.