Chapter Text
Nzzzzzzzt.
Quiet, out in the enshrouding velvet. A bird chirps, questioning. The day rests on the fulcrum of motion; blazing light, still beyond their horizon, tipping forward to fall hard and obliviate. It will be some time yet before it arrives, and she snuggles unconsciously into the warmth of his collar, their mingled notes inhaled slow and deep.
Nzzzzzzzt.
An arcing of electricity, the great engine of awareness rumbling from a satisfied idle. Eyelids quiver under mechanical suggestion, and the smallest puff of her irritation fills the tent. A few lengths of mercy are provided to them both, and then nothing more as Holly’s skin comes alive against his.
NzzzNzzzzzzzt.
His voice is concerned, sharp, cutting them both out of their escape with its hushed tone, “Holly?”
She is alert, a hand still on him, feeling the instinctive cadence of beats and breaths, the other curled up around the grip of her pistol. She tilts her head meaningfully into his neck, and listens, otherwise blind. The crinkling of wind against the damp suggestion of a barrier. The faint creaking of branches, and the rising shuffle of countless leaves. It falls away, and she listens still. Nothing, which tells her everything. She keeps her voice quiet, cautious.
“Arty, let's go. Straight ahead, into the trees.” She slowly creates space as he does the same, the sleeping bags falling away, sands from a dune and half as loud. The first zip is torture, fumbled for, crept around its track, as they hold their breath for the crunch of boots, a shout, something.
Then it was onto the next, crouched side-by-side in their pyjamas, the wind streaming through the widening gap, stripping what comfort they had built up together. Apprehensive silhouettes towered around them in the scantest light, and then they were bathed in a red, slicing tinge from behind. Alarmed birds fled the silent commotion.
The Neutrino was ripped from her chest, replying hurriedly in approximation, and she fought to keep her voice to an urging hiss, “Door, now.” Desperate to comply, Artemis threw himself through the hole, wriggling a bare foot free. The remaining impediment was yanked aside from the outside, and her eyes flicked into those that were equally bleared and angry. Then he was away, crouched low, and she caught up quickly, a hand to his back pressing them on as their shelter evaporated. Dewy grass, caught in squelching ice, caught between her toes. It deadened the harsh bite of nature’s litter, and she fought down the swell of magic when a stone cut into her. Amber sparks now might turn into a tide.
With curt immediacy, the furious display was spent, and they tried to scrutinise the fading after-images of the clearing. Artemis was first to break the silence, only daring a sardonic whisper against their immediate adversaries and an unfriendly universe, “Well, those were some rather aggressive goats.” He glanced across, where the dim glow along the length of Holly's pistol was his only indication of her presence. “Did you see anything?”
She shook her head, sweeping her vision along the opposing treeline, hoping to spot an emerging cowpog. No luck, no morons. “Not really, but their shots came from one side. So I think we’re safe for now.” She blinked hard, to herself still. So close, yet so isolated. Tired too, at least they shared that.
He frowned, bringing the information he had gleaned from their rapid manoeuvre to the fore. Visible beams, red wavelength? Old Softnoses, converted mining lasers, an assassination then. The sporadic shooting implied a lack of professional training, or blindness on account of emitter flash. The downward angle of the initial attack, and the slight inverse of all those that followed suggested a sprite’s involvement, and then those of other fairies. These were derived from physics, mathematics. Facts of motive, means of discovery? Those were yet to be determined, though he had suspicions.
The band of light dipped slightly, and Holly sighed. “Okay, call for Retrieval, and stay here. I’m going around. They’ll run once the cavalry arrives, and I’d like to know why we’re being shot at.”
“Understood, and likewise.”
She shifted from her bundle of roots, and bark-cooled fingers came down to rest on the wing nub of her shoulder, her bare upper arm. Without thinking, she reached across to glide her fingers against his, the air between them laboured and hesitant. Then she was gone, the brittle chill memorialising the impression in fine hairs.
He pressed into two sides of the ring simultaneously, stinging cold against a pocket-warmed hand unappreciative of the task. It was twisted back and forth in precise increments, eight numbers, connecting him directly to Foaly, and then pressed against an ear. It would be faster than the public emergency system, though it took an agonising number of vibrations before a probing voice crept through the speakers, “Artemis, it’s almost 7am up top. You’re not lost, are you?”
He huffed; now was no time for levity. “That would be preferable; Holly and I have been attacked. Deploy Retrieval Three to my coordinates please.” There was almost always time for politeness, however. Foaly gave no response, the lack of one stretching out uncomfortably, no doubt scrambling to carry out his instructions. Then he came through again, sounding wary, “Okay, Retrieval Three will be airborne from Haven in five minutes, and then ten minutes more via overland shuttle. Can you wait until then?”
Artemis kept his tone polite, matter-of-fact, “I suppose we’ll have to, although I have no further influence in the matter. Holly is busy staging a counterattack, entrusting me to make sure that reinforcements arrive.”
By contrast, there was a clear undertone of frustrated teeth-grinding. “A counterattack? Artemis, now would be a wonderful time to explain exactly, in precise terms, what you’re up against.”
He frowned, thinking that it should be abundantly clear, “Fairies that want us dead, and who have not yet succeeded. I suspect four, from the volume of Softnose fire our tent received, but I can’t confirm. We've moved into the eastern edge of the clearing I marked in the route maps, and neither of us have seen movement from the opposing side.”
Foaly digested this information, passing the relevant aspects to Retrieval Dispatch with an urgent sweeping of a holoboard, chattering nervously as he did so. “And thankfully, the new Solinium trackers over Europe have the resolution to let me watch Holly sneaking around, smart. Busy shooting too, with elevated vitals, but otherwise healthy, according to the weapon telemetry.”
Artemis sucked air down with pursed lips, pacifying himself as he watched staccato silhouettes of bushy trees along the left-hand side. The very same through which they had made their triumphant entry hours earlier, decades ago. More than the quiet kept his voice subdued, “Good. I can’t risk checking my own satellites.” The lightning was shrinking, forced deeper into the woodland, and all he could do was watch while his mind thrashed the little information he had.
Foaly’s distracted grunt of acknowledgement pulled him back. “Artemis, just be advised, Trouble’s aware, and Retrieval Seven are inbound from Edinburgh to bolster security. They’re the closest available team, but we’re trying to negotiate with Brittany for other Recon assets as well. ETA is about forty-five minutes.”
“...Artemis? Receiving?”
His breath was ragged as he ducked under a branch, the bark behind him splintering from the heat. “Receiving, being shot at. Moving north-east.”
She tracked forward, continuing her flanking orbit. Weapon up, senses out. Mind racing. Why here, now? How many? Where? Angles and ambushes, considerations of cover and position. Branches groaning, animals scuffling through pre-dawn underbrush. The air was taut.
Nzzzzzzzt.
None of that mattered, forced to slide down into the base of an old tree as killing potential snapped past, flashing leaves exploding around her. That was her advantage here; pushing too much power through the emitter bloomed some of the excess away, blinding the shooter. A common tactic by illicit dwarven miners looking to dislodge something more stubborn than their jaws, and by smuggling gangs for stubborn competition.
She shifted left, diving towards another tree, scrambling across treacherous ground as her adversary grunted in irritation. His swivelled blasts were loose, poorly aimed, and the last he would make as her two sank home off-centre, knocking him backwards, over and out of the fight with a rustling thud.
Her outstretched left hand scraped against the gnarled patchwork, slowing her down enough to wrap the tree in a rough embrace. Those had been lucky shots, walked close by skill, and she breathed a sigh of relief. One of four, no, five down.
Nzzzzzzzt.
Make that six.
From memory alone, she fumbled her way towards her assailant, catching a thunking boot against the Softnose. It was deep-cave-dark, and if she was struggling to see, Artemis wouldn’t be. With the cooling polymer in hand, she jammed it into the dirt, emitter-first. Its owner would be unconscious for half a day, from a quick check of his pulse, but Retrieval would need a way to find him once they arrived. That couldn’t be far off now, or at least she hoped as much. No time to ruminate, reactions only, so she continued her hunt.
The remainder of the opposition should be ahead, presumably now reinforced from the vibrations against her collarbone. Someone should have seen her little altercation, which was all part of the plan; attention trained on her could be dealt with. Try as she might though, she felt her own wandering. The clouds and conifers had conspired together to rob her of all but outlines, leaving gulfs of empty space to encourage a sour unease.
Whoever had sent their new fairy friends wanted her and Arty gone for good, and were paying handsomely for it. Six or so fairies, willing to risk a century or three in The Deeps? That meant funding, organisation, perhaps even some intention beyond a hit job for old grievances. The lack of living rivals seemed answer enough there.
There was something off, however, they clearly hadn’t been able to bottom out the scales. Softnoses were rare these days, with the Goblin Revolution a memory receding into the middle distance, the last scorch marks long scrubbed away and its cheap instruments recycled. Hardly carried by professionals either, with how disorganised they were now, and yet they had posed a serious threat at first. What was all this?
Her mind locked all this away in an instant, focused on the breaking of a dry stick ahead, off her left shoulder. She crouched in place, behind a tree she had been ready to pass and discard, Neutrino close with elbows outstretched. Nothing had changed, the source perhaps obscured from view by spires of midnight. Again, the slippery crunch of a boot, louder. She brought her weapon up around the wet trunk, head tilted as a new branch at its lowest extremes, only to snap away with widening eyes from an advancing shade, and scarlet overwhelming. Here’s number two then!
Presses of the trigger were smooth, automatic, acknowledging the slight resistance of the impulse point before resetting to respond again. One, two, one two, double taps into the dark, head back behind the weapon, pivoting it with her body to track the rough centre of the angry, unregimented pulses. No luck on either side, the blossoming half-moon of the opponent solid evidence that Mother Nature had decided to get in the way. She tucked in, and stepped out, arms forming a solid triangle as she sidled right towards eventual cover, trying to feel for trip hazards through her boot tips and a body full to the boots with adrenaline. If they hadn’t seen her, she might get a clear shot.
Not that she would see the opportunity, but more hear it. As it was, with daylight long extinguished, she could barely see past her own tensed wrists. Every scrape of rubber, every regretted breath seemed like it might hand that to whoever disliked her today. Then something thrashed violently, some small creature having the last, worst day of its short life, and panicked shots slashed a small pathway out of the shadows. Holly took her chance.
She raced forward, firing as she ducked around the gnarled outline of a dangling branch, with perhaps twenty steps to go between her and the threat. While they couldn’t have seen her shots, the smell of blistering wood around them would be clue enough, and her crashing through the newborn quiet a guarantee. She wasn’t surprised when the sun peeked out to greet her again.
Shifting her advance right two steps, using squinted eyes to trace the beams, her aim was thrown by the unexpected bump of a rough tree against her shoulder. She allowed the momentum to twist her further, bringing her into alignment faster as she worked the trigger, sweat beading down a temple. A strangled gasp was her reward, married with an errant snipe at the unseen moon, and a buzzing stillness fell. Got you, finally.
She nodded repeatedly in satisfaction as she counted down the distance. Less than twenty shots so far, against mercenaries she couldn’t see, bumbling around a wood she couldn’t really navigate. Not bad for a high-speed castor commander. It was a small reprieve from the squeezing of her head, and the chemical burn in her throat. She swallowed hard, breathed deep, and felt the desire to throw up lessen. Being back in action had never felt worse. She could work through this later, best to mark him and get back to Artemis.
When her count proved accurate, she couldn’t feel sorry for a slackened arm no doubt bruised by a final, exploratory kick. Crouching, she risked the steady whine of her Neutrino as she maxed out its power, and hovered it over the throat of her would-be murderer.
With a finger brushing the warm shell of the pistol, wrist bent to keep the emitter clear, she considered. Lighter brown than her, tinged orange in the dense amber glow. Fine, dark hairs twinkled by as she shifted the light up, the rest of his head wrapped in the hood of a dry, black, child-sized hoodie. She pursed her lips as she took in his angled features, having to lean over close enough to feel automatic puffs, closing eyes that were grass glimmering emerald to avoid them drying out over time. The other one had been lucky enough to be caught mid-blink.
Catching a sliver of pearl beside his head, she crept round to retrieve his Softnose, the thought of having to press herself against him otherwise an uncomfortable one, in light of recent experiences. The act of turning the rifle into an impromptu stake brought back the foggy memory of being tucked in tight against Artemis, and both lightened her frown.
That made two elves so far, at least, probably more. Gnomes were too ungainly, dwarves too expensive. Sprites, perhaps, though it took experience to control the unconscious beating of wings under stress. Goblins were out of the question, and the irony of their still being unemployable, legitimate or otherwise, outside public service wasn’t lost on her. As she crunched her way back towards their demolished campsite, hoping to draw attention despite her queasiness at the prospect, she forced herself to consider the worst scenario possible.
Opal’s death had left many admirers in its wake, sympathisers with a romantically-blinkered view of events and motivations, and skulls thick enough that even a centaur’s hoof couldn’t penetrate. Press releases, nightly news and the dwindling stream of sensationalist documentaries had no chance, even incensing a few to take matters into their own hands. They had both been briefed by Internal Affairs’ Personnel Protectorate in the aftermath of several easily-thwarted attempts, given her rank, profile, and their “investment” in her career to date. There hadn’t been any cause for concern then, even less as time and grudges moved on, but what if one of the likely pixie groups had laid low until now for a better chance of success?
The corner of her vision was smothered with red. Between blinks, she had spun to draw her pistol around, eyebrows pinching closer. It had been so small, and just the one. Then the implication hit her, and her skull almost split from the impact of the second, crushing her to her knees with a groan.
She tried desperately to focus on the stab of pine needles, something outside this vortex, blinking away seeping tears. She couldn't be sure, except that he had been hit. Hit doesn’t mean dead. The connection? The connection might be wrong. Get up. Up. Come on, Short, up, he's short on time!
With aching slowness, she forced herself upright, feeling the stretch of each muscle through a pounding, desolate vision. Her knuckles yellowed from her grip on the Neutrino, and she threw herself past the clawing trees, into the clearing, arms swinging to drag the world nearer, feet slapping wetly with only her ragged breathing, and this burning absence for company.
She blinked hard, sped along by vicious excitement as the treeline erupted with danger. He’s okay, by Danu! Close enough now for her to be heard, for good enough shots if she knew where to place them, and so she shouted for him, her voice ringing high around this amphitheatre, his safety guaranteed by an educated guess.
“Down!”
The pulsing shafts to her right vanished, and she poured her determination into the unfortunate remainder before they could react. Two seconds and seven attempts later, it was dark once more. She slowed, jogging into the welcoming confines with her pistol held low, crushing detritus underfoot in her search along the edge. Her eyes spotted the faintest of blinking lights, and she moved readily for it, crouching down in a smooth motion to lay a fumbling hand against his neck. Her voice was raw, and yet confident in their abilities. He wasn’t in any danger now.
“Arty, where’s the hit?”
His voice was breathy, laced through with agony, “Left rotator cuff, through the Infraspinatus, fourth degree, without an exit.” There was an upward twinge there, the telltale of relief. She had stopped listening at “Infra”, a searching hand having slipped down to follow her magic’s guidance, sucking air in both pain and appreciation at the flaking hole through his nightshirt. She couldn’t see it, but the cauterised smell was enough to know how deep the injury went. This was going to be unpleasant, a “dynamic healing”, as warlocks might put it. She re-holstered her pistol with a soft click, and rolled her wrists in preparation.
“I’m going to have to stick my fingers in, to make sure the nerves heal correctly. Slow breaths. Can you turn up the brightness?”
“Of course.” He tapped the hand of his good arm into his thigh, twice, in rapid succession, and theirs was at once a small world of electric light and harsh, shifting shades. He was propped up against a fallen, mossy tree trunk, water reflecting off grey mushrooms as he slumped the ring-bearing arm over his chest. She couldn’t help but give his frazzled hair a peck of reassurance while she peeled the injured clothing apart: he forced a thin smile through pale lips, surrounded by an icy sheen, as she winced at what had been revealed.
The wound was the size of a large coin, the edges blackened, a crimson blush flooding across the warped skin of his shoulder. Scorched bone glinted brightly, at the end of a fleshy tunnel she couldn’t help but compare to baked rhubarb. Thankfully, it seemed clean, no melted fibres, no need for battlefield surgery, but from the drooping of his arm, without her, he might have never used it again.
She positioned the trigger finger of each hand against the crusted rim, and grimaced sympathetically at his glassy wince. "Look at me? Okay, here we go."
He bit down hard on his other sleeve as she clicked her neck, crammed her way in, and let the magic flow, guiding it through microscopic gaps in the ruined muscle. Past rubbery, dry material, she sensed nerves firing blankly in pain, and he grunted fiercely as she knitted them back together, eyes clenched shut as awful feeling returned to the epicentre. She was impressed at his composure, and encouraged him softly, “Worst part’s over.”
Excess heat began steaming out from under his collar, the deeper burning quenched before reinforcements arrived. She pulled the fizzling end of the stream back on itself, into the wound bed, allowing the bright grains to soak in freely from there. As she slowly withdrew, muscle and tendons regenerated in her wake. She let out a sigh of relief when now-slick fingers were brushed with the cool morning, and his skin flowed back together. His blood was the only indication of any injury, and she scrubbed them clean against the damp ground while Artemis tested the joint with cautious rolls.
Satisfied with the results, he bored wide eyes into hers. “Thank you, for our sakes.” Then the lightest of smiles. “And theirs. With my shoulder injured, I risked hitting something.” He looked past her, and his face tightened. “Unfortunately, he hit whoever tried to sneak up on me.”
Now crouching on the balls of her feet, she made to follow his expression, until his hand stropped her, his voice tender, a remarkable achievement given his recent experience, “I would advise against that. Significant trauma to the left orbital. We’ve seen enough gruesome ends, and they’ll be easily found here.”
She sighed, nodded a few times to herself for composure, and then tweaked an eyebrow upward with a frank expression. “So that explains the state of your jacket. Dragging you to the range was worthwhile too. I thought you might run out of juice.”
He shook his head quickly, relaxing somewhat, twisting about then for the discarded Softnose. “Never in a human lifetime.” Leaning over to pull it into his lap by the stock, he flicked the safety, and popped the battery compartment, revealing an unassuming aqua-blue cube with a golden plate in its centre, tilting its housing for her to get a better look.
She frowned, intrigued by the densely etched characters. “Nuclear battery, the decay-based kind. In perfect shape too.” She glanced up at Artemis, who was patiently waiting for her to state the obvious. “They were going to be here until we weren’t.”
He nodded, “While also being unconcerned with the cost; this style of battery was phased out in the 1970s, and yet these are almost certainly newly built, modified to suit.”
She reached over for the weapon, resting it on her knees, unconvinced by the clean exterior. The scuffs and roughness of hard use were quickly exposed. “Stacking bars for tech, dusting up flakes for the fairies using it? There’s a limit to how far they could go.”
His eyebrows tightened. “Yes, hardly the underworld’s finest. And an attempt was made to mitigate that with observed strengths. Surprise and technology may well have won them the day. We were lucky.”
She scoffed, uneasily. “They weren’t. Two more will be sleeping until we’re back below ground. That makes three. The rest have been run off, seeing as we’re not being shot at.”
“Quite. I expected as much, given your lightshow.” He stood, dusting down his trousers. “We should probably investigate the most recent addition to that tally,” he flicked his hand in indication, and she trailed eagerly, Softnose wrapped in the fingers of her off-hand. “Retrieval will be a few minutes, and actionable intelligence may take far longer to surface once these fine gentlemen begin to work their way through the system.”
Back under the heavy gloom of the forest’s interior, they moved without caution to regain some sensation; her feet were freezing. “No disagreement there; we’ll need as much as we can find. After that, I need socks and a shower.”
“I’ll order food while you enjoy the latter,” his voice twinged with amusement, “diversification of effort.” He stepped carefully around the base of a tree pockmarked with the burns and chips of errant laser fire, crouching with a sigh. “Now, let’s have a closer look at you.”
She swung around past them, another blacked up, rough-looking elf with a missing ear tip, laying down the confiscated weapon to dig around the stomach pocket of his hoodie. Nothing, and so she began to pat down the remaining chest area, his arms. Nothing. She gently tilted his head to and fro, pulling each side of his collar away in turn to check for tattoos, identifying marks. Nothing but unmarked brown skin. She hummed in frustration as she ran her fingers through cropped hair, hoping to feel something distinct. “Any luck down there?”
Artemis seemed unconcerned, busy with unlacing one of their captive’s boots, “None at all, which is informative by itself.”
She had begun pacing methodically, both rifles recovered, trying to spy any other dirt-speckled clues. Her low voice travelled easily in the quiet, “They’re at least being run by someone sensible. No comms, identical clothing, not suited for the environment? They knew where we were, what to do, and didn’t expect to be above ground for long. So they must be camped nearby.”
“Agreed, though not on the specifics of the final point. There’s an old fairy fort a few kilometres to the north west, deeper into Glendalough Valley. Deactivated and rarely checked when Butler and I first visited, even less so now, I would imagine. The perfect location from which to stage an attack, right on our doorstep really, and escape through with the mission complete.”
“Trouble can get it checked out once I’ve got a secure line.” She indicated the source of their own personal daylight with a nod. “No offence, I’m a little nervy right now.”
He shrugged, smoothing the last of their new friend’s clothing back into place, not that he would look any less dishevelled to the casual observer. “It’s perfectly understandable. Retrieval should be here shortly, if they’re not landing already.”
“I’ll lead the way.” She proffered one of the rifles to him, and injected an ounce of sternness into what followed to cheer herself up, “Keep that thing pointed down. My stomach says that I’ve had enough firefights for a while.”
He shifted the rifle into a position from which he could threaten his feet with sudden heat, response dry. “Yes ma’am, right away ma’am.”
She chuckled as she passed by, shaking her head. “I hate that I like that. Keep it up.”
They stood amongst the trees, waiting, light spilling around them for easy identification. The grass swished in the breeze and birds tweeted, calling to one another from high branches, the morning’s events a burning topic of discussion. The sorry remains of a tent lay between it all. That would be recovered before they were escorted home, but Holly shivered at what else they were leaving here.
Then a growing rectangle of white light was chinked out of the overwhelming darkness, melted down across a sliver ramp, into the vivid green centre of the oval. Holly beat down the distance between them, and Artemis followed with easy strides. A helmeted fairy appeared at the base of the shuttle’s entryway, and raised a gloved hand in greeting, the other easily holding a large rifle across their well-stocked chest rig, which swayed from a jogged approach. He introduced himself in an amicable, yet focused tone once they were close enough, and Artemis had the distinct impression that there would be no discussions here.
“Commodore Short, Mr Fowl, Retrieval Three Lead. Let’s get you on board.” He indicated the Softnoses they carried with a nod. “I’ll take those though.” The weapons were eagerly transferred into a curled arm, and they followed at his rapid pace, his boots soon finding easy purchase on the ramp’s textured plastic insert. Mellow heat welcomed them inside the short aisle, their escort heading past bordering rows of folded seats to the far end, where two were offered. He snatched a grey nub from an equipment locker, and secured the new additions within. “We have some cleaning up to do, ma’am, but HQ wants to talk. Care to point out the sights first?”
She nodded weightily, seeing a wasted, cooling life in her mind’s eye. She detailed the rough location of their aggressors relative to the ship, how she had marked some of them, and where she thought their own tent was. This was received with quick, sympathetic thanks by the green-suited fairy, who handed over an earpiece before they were left alone, the shuttle’s ramp sealing them safely away with a timid clunk. She gave Artemis’s hand a quick squeeze, slotted the thing in place, and then returned her hand to his with a brisk announcement, “Commodore Short, receiving.”
“Good thing too,” Foaly whinnied in amusement. “I didn't quite believe Retrieval Three when he said you were both dressed for bed.”
She leaned back slowly against the cool metal of the ship. "Dressed for bed and rudely awakened. I put three of them to sleep, soon to be waking up in a cell each.” She sighed, loss etched into the sound, and Artemis squeezed her hand at length in support. “The fourth took a slow laser to the head, just before Artemis was hit. I don’t need to tell you which one is still breathing."
He took a moment to respond, doing so gravely, "Understood.” An inflection of determination had slipped into the last syllable; he was eager to get back at a threat to his friends. “We'll have a full debrief soon; for now, any leads I can start with?”
“The Softnoses are powered by brand new decay-based batteries; there can’t be that many traders of either floating around. Artemis thinks the shooters came from a surface fort in Glendalough Valley, so we might find something there as well, or pick up whoever slipped away.”
“It’s not much, but it's definitely a start. I’ll redirect Retrieval Seven, and we’ll see if anyone has kept The Lone Lookout company. Anything else? Trouble wants an update as soon as I can give him one.”
“Nothing obvious. No identifying marks, insignia, or external communication. All elves, I think. Start with the usual mercenary suspects, that’s where this seems to point.”
“As likely as not, I’ll start digging.” He paused, tone betraying trepidation, “One final thing; Trouble wants Artemis and his family under protective custody, in Haven, until this is resolved. It’s not been agreed yet, he’s meeting with the IAPP soon, but I’ll have a final decision in hand before you arrive. I think we both know how it's likely to go though. Especially with the casualty.”
She rubbed the back of her head, irritated at yet another twist in their tail, as he might say. “Right, I’ll let him know.” At the edge of her vision, she saw Artemis glance over, the skin between his eyes crinkling. A swirl of chilled air tickled her arm as the ramp began to descend once again, and they turned to watch the paired loading of a disguised, sombre cargo.
Foaly spoke up after another brief pause, clearly trying to put a brighter spin on recent events, “Still, I’ll get breakfast arranged, free of charge. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day for everyone involved.”
The third of her fellow officers bundled the unconscious, murderous fairy aboard, restraining them further, and carefully, in a seat amidships. Anger burst bright in her stomach for their threatening of a long-awaited peace. “I have a feeling you’ll be right more than once there.”