Artemis Fowl (Artemis Fowl 1)

“Yes, it explains a lot.”

“Such as?” asked Artemis, interested in spite of himself.

Dr. Po printed off a page.

“Firstly, there’s your associate, Butler. A bodyguard, I understand. Hardly a suitable companion for an impressionable boy. Then there’s your mother. A wonderful woman in my opinion, but with absolutely no control over your behavior. Finally, there’s your father. According to this, he wasn’t much of a role model, even when he was alive.”

The remark stung, but Artemis wasn’t about to let the doctor realize how much.

“Your file is mistaken, Doctor,” he said. “My father is alive. Missing perhaps, but alive.”

Po checked the sheet. “Really? I was under the impression that he has been missing for almost two years. Why, the courts have declared him legally dead.”

Artemis’s voice was devoid of emotion, though his heart was pounding. “I don’t care what the courts say, or the Red Cross. He is alive, and I will find him.”

Po scratched another note.

“But even if your father were to return, what then?” he asked. “Will you follow in his footsteps? Will you be a criminal like him? Perhaps you already are?”

“My father was no criminal,” Artemis said testily. “He was moving all our assets into legitimate enterprises. The Murmansk venture was completely aboveboard.”

“You’re avoiding the question, Artemis,” said Po.

But Artemis had had enough of this line of questioning. Time to play a little game.

“Why, Doctor?” said Artemis, shocked. “This is a sensitive area. For all you know, I could be suffering from depression.”

“I suppose you could,” said Po, sensing a breakthrough. “Is that the case?”

Artemis dropped his face into his hands. “It’s my mother, Doctor.”

“Your mother?” prompted Po, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. Artemis had caused half a dozen counselors to retire from Saint Bartleby’s already this year. Truth be told, Po was on the point of packing his own bags. But now . . .

“My mother, she . . .”

Po leaned forward on his fake Victorian chair. “Your mother, yes?”

“She forces me to endure this ridiculous therapy, when the so-called counselors are little better than misguided do-gooders with degrees.”

Po sighed. “Very well, Artemis. Have it your way, but you are never going to find peace if you continue to run away from your problems.”

Artemis was spared further analysis by the vibration of his cell phone. He had a coded secure line. Only one person had the number. The boy retrieved it from his

pocket, flipping open the tiny communicator. “Yes?”

Butler’s voice came through the speaker. “Artemis. It’s me.”

“Obviously. I’m in the middle of something here.”

“We’ve had a message.”

“Yes. From where?”

“I don’t know exactly. But it concerns the Fowl Star.”

A jolt raced up Artemis’s spine.

“Where are you?”

“The main gate.”

“Good man. I’m on my way.”

Dr. Po whipped off his glasses. “This session is not over, young man. We made some progress today, even if you won’t admit it. Leave now, and I will be forced to inform the dean.”

The warning was lost on Artemis. He was already somewhere else. A familiar electric buzz was crackling over his skin. This was the beginning of something. He could feel it.