Chapter Text
Chapter 1: DEJÀ VU
“Artemis. Don’t you think it’s a bit too much to ask, oui?”
Those lips she loved to kiss were curled in a contemptuous grimace, and the voice that came out of them was icy, yet Artemis wasn’t worried at all. To understand Minerva Paradizo, one had to listen at her eyes, not at her words. And above that upturned nose, behind a pair of half-lenses, those beryllium shards were neither contemptuous nor icy. They said: yes, and they also said: but, entertain me.
And Artemis was happy to oblige. As she herself had pointed out a few months earlier, Minerva was arrogant. As she herself had pointed out a few weeks earlier, Artemis loved her arrogance. Condescension wouldn’t have been as much fun.
Artemis had been preparing for so long to ask her (five minutes). She had known the chances of her saying no were high (unlikely, but it could cost her a bit). And she had grinned at the feeling of déjà vu when diananonfoeminanomen (1) had written to athenenoctua (2) to discuss a personal matter (that was how it had all started).
Artemis had been preparing for so long to ask her (five minutes). Five minutes wasted, because as soon as athenenoctua is calling had appeared on the monitor and diananonfoeminanomen had joined the conversation, she had discovered that her microphone had been muted.
Artemis had shot the webcam her most offended glare... which had not been that much. There was a smile threatening to curl her lips. It was no use, and she had known it all too well. Minerva would have read her eyes just like Artemis could read hers. And her mismatched eyes couldn’t have been more telling if Artemis had stood up and curtsied to the camera.
The number of people who could hope to stand up to Artemis, above or below the surface, can be counted on the fingers of one hand. And only one of them could see her concede with so much grace. Because Artemis loved her arrogance. She loved watching her win, the grin on her lips, so similar to her own. Getting into her system just to have the first word was a mastermove. One that Artemis could only bow to.
How exactly she had done it, that was another matter. Artemis supposed she could backtrace her steps, but she wasn’t sure. It would be easy to label both her and Minerva as genii – and she knew many made that mistake – when in fact, for all the overlapping they had, their talents were quite distinct. Artemis was multifaceted: Jerbal Argon, the LEP psychologist tasked with profiling her when the People had decided to mindwipe her, had compared her to Leonardo da Vinci – a comment that had tickled her ego amidst all the nonsense. For Artemis, there was essentially no knowledge that wasn’t worth knowing. Minerva, on the other hand, was far less eclectic: she had a predetermined range of interests that were worthy of her attention, and she rarely deviated from them. She was perfectly capable of deciding that an entire field of knowledge was not for her and ignoring it accordingly. Oh, sure, she would end up learing it anyway – eidetic memory, just like Artemis’ – but it would never get more than a shrug from her.
That was just the beginning. Where Artemis was more than content with locking herself up in her lab, Minerva wasn’t above getting her hands dirty. Where Artemis was always looking for a practical application for her discoveries, Minerva loved science for its own sake. And of course, being the exceptional people they were, both had so many exceptions to those rules that to the most all of this appeared as little more than mere coincidences.
One of the fields in which Minerva excelled was hacking, something Artemis had suspected ever since she had seen her realizing that the feeds Foaly was showing her were fake. On one hand, Artemis could have obiected that one didn’t need to be a computer genius – or even a genius, for that matter – to figure out that there was no army when she could just stick her head out the window (in case you're wondering if Artemis had restrained herself from informing Foaly that she thought his plan was pretty idiotic, the answer is no); on the other, someone very, very clever had deleted all information about the girl and her family from the internet, and there weren’t many alternatives. Confirmation had come from Taipei 101.
“Give it to me.”
Artemis had turned, surprised. Not something that happened often, even if it definetely had happened often than before since that damned puberty had begun and her interlocutor was a pretty girl like Minerva Paradizo. The truth was that, between the urge of awakening the demon warlocks, the intromission of Kong’s men and the bomb strapped to Holly’s wrist, she had forgotten about her for a moment. It had helped that in the last few minutes Minerva had done her best to make herself as inconspicuous as possible, as if she wanted to conceal the role she had played in that affair. Now, however, she had taken a step forward and Artemis had had no difficulty in reading her body language: shoulders back, head held straight, a face that – although distressed – was full of determination.
Eight minutes, a voice in her head had reminded her.
But perhaps it was because Artemis well understood the desire to redeem herself after a mistake; perhaps it was because she had asked herself what she would have done if it had been her, the one with a bomb strapped to her arm; perhaps it was simply because – after all – Minerva was a beautiful girl and Artemis a fourteen-year-old with her mind clouded by hormones. Whatever it was, she had signaled for Holly to come closer.
Minerva had wasted no time. Using a key as lever, she had torn apart the panel and, ignoring the rest of the components, she had headed straight for the timer. Her slender fingers had reached into the bowels of the device, ripped out a cable, and connected it to the PDA she had fished out of her pocket. Amazing that Kong hadn’t thought to confiscate it. On the other hand, that man was cleary an idiot.
“Artemis, six minutes,” Holly had whispered, but Artemis had barely heard her. She knew a genius at work when she saw one, and it was clear from the confidence with which she moved that Minerva was sure of what she was doing.
The flipside, well, was that absolutely nothing was happening. Minerva typed. The timer ticked down at an unnatural pace, at least to Artemis’ eyes. Nothing else. Her eyes – and, she was sure, everyone else’s in the room – darted between the rapidly decaying red numbers and fingers moving almost as fast.
“Two minutes…” Holly’s voice was tinged with desperation, and Artemis had felt the doubt creep into his mind, too. What did she really know about Minerva? She was a genius who managed to catch a demon with less information than Artemis had had when she had kidnapped Holly. She was smart, funny, and very pretty. But Artemis knew her own skills and limits. Minerva’s were an enigma. She had to admit that, with her glasses askew, her curls plastered to her face, and a trickle of sweat running from her forehead to the corner of her eye, she didn’t inspire much confidence.
Artemis had opened her mouth to say something – what, for once, she didn’t even know. Maybe “I’d like to thank you all,” as if she was on Hollywood’s red carpet. Not really original, but soon there would be no one left to hold that against her – when Minerva exaled. A moment later, the bomb slid across the linoleum toward her.
Artemis’ first instinct was to jump back. Laughable, really, because it certainly wouldn’t have been enough to save herself from the bomb, nor was the distance between it and Minerva enough to keep the other girl safe from the explosion. It would only have made her look ridiculous, so she had suppressed her instinct and lowered her gaze.
The timer now read 23 hours and 59 minutes. Next to her, Holly had whistled, and Butler had also raised his eyebrows, impressed. It was enough to take it to the nearest building and defuse it. Enough, if necessity arose, to just drop it in the ocean, where it couldn’t hurt anyone.
Artemis had shifted her gaze from the bomb to Minerva, who had a satisfied smile on her lips. A smile she knew well, the smile that accompained at task succesfully completed. “Thank you,” Artemis had said.
Minerva had snapped out of it, her smile disappearing faster than a mouse in its bolthole. “It’s not much. That timer is well known in geological surveys. And construction. I guess that’s how they got it into the building.”
Artemis had said the exact same thing earlier on, but she avoided pointing it out. In the confusion, it was entirely possible that Minerva had missed it and come to the same conclusion on her own (they had known each other since just a few hours, and it wasn’t even the first time it had happened). Plus, she didn’t exactly look like she was ready to compete in wits with her, at the moment. Even with her awful social skills, Artemis could see that: her immediate usefulness exhausted, Minerva’s only desire seemed to be to disappear again.
Artemis wanted to say something. That it hadn’t been her fault. That in her place she would have done the same. That she’d seen her stand between N°1 and Kong’s men, and that had to mean something.
But there had been no time. Even with the bomb temporarily out of the equation, there were footsteps and voices coming from the stairs. N°1 and Qwan had to disappear before the existence of the People became public knowledge.
“I’ll call you,” she had said, and Minerva leaning out with Butler to watch them disappear into the sky was the last thing she saw.
In the end, it hadn’t been the bomb that had doomed them. It had been Holly’s wings, which hadn’t held up to the combined weight of Artemis and the two demons. The girl was still thinking about the two figures standing out against the broken window, as she reached out to remove N°1’s bracelet.
And Minerva had waited for that phone call for three long years.
“Artemis.” A French accented voice had jolted her out of her memories. She had moved her eyes to the monitor, where Minerva’s index finger, bent in a hook, filled half the screen: “Come here.”
And Artemis had grinned, because she had spent forty-five minutes facing the mirror, and she was glad the other had noticed. Minerva’s methods might be questionable, but she had her priorities straight, and Artemis agreed with her: what she had to tell her could very well wait.
The first time she had ever tried to put on makeup at Fowl Manor, she’d waited until one of the rare instances when she knew it would be deserted, Butler included. She had double-locked the door, checked the handle for safety, and even then a creak had been enough to make her jump in her seat, nearly spilling eyeshadow all over herself. She had waited for two minutes in complete silence, her heart pounding and her ears cocked, before calling herself an idiot. Fowl Manor was old, creaks were normal. She had only noticed because she had been on alert. Even so, she had stopped shaking only when she had wiped her face with makeup remover. Of course, she’d made a mess of it. Never mind. Genius was also admitting when it was time to fall back to fight another day.
The second time there had been no suspicious noises, and Artemis had been able to recreate a good approximation of the makeup Minerva had applied to her in that hotel room. And then she had hidden her face in her hands and burst into tears, without even knowing why she was doing it, when the truth was that the face that had looked back at her from the mirror was perfect, it was hers, and that tore her apart from the inside. Artemis knew who she was: a girl.
The third time there had been tears too. But tears of joy. She hadn’t come down for dinner that day, claiming of being indisposed. She didn’t need anything to eat, anyway: she had never felt so full of energy. She had removed her makeup in the dark, so as not to see herself without it, and had gone to bed with her heart fluttering pleasantly inside her chest.
Since then, things had gotten easier, especially after her coming out to Butler and Juliet. Now it was enough for her parents and the twins to get out of the way. When they were alone in the house, her two bodyguards called her by female pronouns, and Juliet insisted on assisting her during her makeup sessions, even though her style was completely different from Artemis’. Butler had also shown up once or twice, and it had seemed to her that his gaze, as she carefully applied eyeshadow, had actually softened. This had left her freer to experiment, too, as when Juliet had helped her put on a corset (Juliet, that it is necessary to tighten the laces until my insides squeeze out is a misconcept! I’m surprised that you, of all people, don’t know that!), an experience she would never repeat (she would definitely do it again).
But it was Minerva’s judgment, the one that mattered most, a judgment that had made her use – for the first time in her life – her cell phone camera to send photo after photo for her approval, basking in each of her enthusiastic comments. Hearing it from her voice, however, was another thing.
Bent over the screen, she had willingly submitted to the exam, tilting her head first to the right and then to the left, up or down and adjusting the lamp as she was asked. All this while green eyes – the eyes of a scientist – dissected her, until it had seemed to her that the warmth of the lamp was that of Minerva’s body, until it had seemed to her that the fingers touching her were her girlfriend’s. Until it had seemed to her that Minerva was there beside her, until Minerva had called herself satisfied.
So?, Artemis had spelled.
Minerva had tapped her lower lip with her index finger: “Hmm. You have to understand that in order to formulate a reliable review, I’d need to be there with you, oui? But...” She was enjoying prolonging the wait, Artemis knew that. When she wanted to, Minerva could be as mischievous as her. “...Twenty out of twenty (3). And nothing less.”
Artemis had been glad that the blush hid the red she felt warming her cheeks. She had looked down: good, the microphone was back. “You don’t have to lie just to make me feel better, you know.”
Minerva’s eyes had replaced her index finger on the screen, four or five times their real size: “You think I am lying?”, she had said, a note in her voice that would have sent shivers down the back of anyone but Artemis. “Look at me in the eyes and, as the scientist you are – that we both are – tell me if I’m lying.”
That was something Artemis really loved about her. True, she might have been raised to take her father’s place at the head of the Fowl empire, but – in her heart – Artemis was a scientist. Theorems and data were languages she was fluent in. And Minerva wasn’t one to just make assertions: that, anyone could do. No, Minerva brought the evidence for what she said and then dared Artemis to contradict her. She pointed Occam’s razor at her throat.
And Artemis had cut herself on it. She had bled on the blade, and every drop had been examined under the microscope. Minerva was a genius. A skilled liar. And her love for her was undeniable. Yet she had never lied to her, and Artemis knew her well. She knew her intimately. There was no sign of lies in her voice nor in her eyes. No, that Minerva was lying was an idea that required too many leaps of logic. And entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem (4). The bottom line was that, as unlikely as it seemed, Minerva was telling the truth – or at least what she believed it was the truth. That, Occam’s razor could not discern, but experience came in, and experience told her that Minerva’s truths had an habit to turn out to be so. She had once said that Artemis’ eyes saw further than anyone else’s, but she had been wrong. It was Minerva, the far seer, the one who saw things no one else did. Not even her, Artemis.
“No, you’re not lying,” she acknowledged. “Now, please explain.”
Minerva had adjusted the glasses on her nose. “Explain? What’s there to explain, when the images speak for themselves? You know me, Artemis. We’ve spent basically every waking moment together for three months, n’est-ce pas? And you’ve seen how often I do it rough. Eyeliner and eyeshadow, hair pulled back so it doesn’t get in my eyes, a touch of gloss if I really want to overdo it. And you know why eyeliner and eyeshadow?”
With a small nod, Artemis had signaled her to go on. It was true that with eyeliner and eyeshadow – both rigorously dark – Minerva’s pale green eyes looked even bigger, brighter. But she didn’t need it: even without makeup, she was beautiful. The eyes are the windows to the soul, the saying went, and there had to be something else behind it.
“As you know, I am almost identical to the woman to whom I owe my mitochondrial DNA,” Minerva had begun. Artemis was used to those periphrases, which slipped out of her mouth without her even stopping to think at them. On Minerva’s lips, the word mother was a curse. “What I’ve never told you is what makes us different: she carries the FOXC2 gene. She has purple eyes, while mine come from father’s side of the family.”
The psychology behind it was basic, but Artemis had been careful not to interrupt her. They both knew that Minerva could have simply said “FOXC2” and Artemis would have understood anyway. She was giving her the full speech for a reason.
“When I put on eyeliner and eyeshadow, it’s because I want everyone to look at my eyes, see that they’re green, and that I’m not her. If it weren’t for that, I think I could easily do without makeup. But you?” She smiled. “How long have you been in front of the mirror?”
It wasn’t like Artemis to lose sight of the clock. As long as she wasn’t spending her time with Minerva, that is. “Fourty-five minutes.”
“Fourty-five minutes. Mon Dieu. Don’t you see, Artemis? You put into your makeup the same meticulous care, the same focused attention, the same perfection you use for everything else that matters to you. And believe me – I swear! – it shows. Therefore: twenty out of twenty, and nothing less.”
Artemis had opened her mouth to protest again, but this time Minerva didn’t bother to mute her microphone. She had simply spoken before the other could. “Nothing less, I said. Remember how it ended the last time you questioned my judgment on your appearance, oui?”
Artemis felt a smile creep across her lips. “Yes. I remember it having ended up quite well. And we may soon have a chance for an encore.”
Minerva leaned over the monitor. They both knew Artemis was not one to talk nonsense. Saying they would soon have a chance for a encore implied being alone in a hotel room, away from prying eyes.
“Interesting. Tell me more.”
Artemis had allowed herself a grin, even though there was very little fun in her situation: “Interesting? Let’s see if you still think so after you know what it is. But first, tell me, are you free on the 26th and 27th of this month?”
Both her voice and her words had suggested that Minerva should check her calendar and pretend she was already busy. And they both knew that was exactly what she would have done, if anyone else had asked. But Artemis was different, and she had nodded
“Because my mother – and judging by Minerva’s look, that said it all: who would suggest something out of their comfort zone but Angeline Fowl? – has decided to take the twins to France for Christmas.”
Minerva was, after all, a genius. Her face hadn’t even gone through surprise. It had settled straight away to horror.
“...to Disneyland.”
Minerva had spared her from beating around the bush and asking why she was telling her. That would have been an insult to both their intelligence: “Artemis. Don’t you think it’s a bit too much to ask, oui?”
Those lips she loved to kiss were curled in a contemptuous grimace, and the voice that came out of them was icy, yet Artemis wasn’t worried at all. To understand Minerva Paradizo, one had to listen at her eyes, not at her words. And above that upturned nose, behind a pair of half-lenses, those beryllium shards were neither contemptuous nor icy. They said: yes, and they also said: but, entertain me. So Artemis had simply gave the webcam her sharpest smile.
To her credit, Minerva pretended to think about it. She pretended to think about it for a long time. Artemis knew that, in a ranking of places she disliked the most, Disneyland would end up – if not first – at least on the podium. And, after looking up the website, she couldn’t even blame her.
Eventually, however, the girl gave in: “So be it. How may I look at myself should I leave my fiancée all alone in that hell? You know, my father will be positively beside himself. He’s been trying to drag me there for years, oui.”
This, was what Artemis, who was leaning against the back of her chair, had expected. It was then that the unexpected happened. Minerva’s air of martyrdom was replaced by a grin that Artemis knew well. A grin that, when it was on her lips, she was used to have it described as vampire-like: “The 26th and 27th, you said?”
Artemis bent over the monitor. They both knew Minerva was not one to talk nonsense.
“The idea is that after that they’ll go back to Fowl Manor, while I’ll follow you to Geneva… if you’ll still want me around, that is.”
The other girl waved it away: “Of course I’ll still want you around. But if they think we’ll just let ourselves be dragged off to Disneyland, they’re sorely mistaken. Disneyland, eh? Even as adults, they like to treat us like little girls. All right, then, on the first day we’ll behave like good little girls, to please them. Because complacency breeds arrogance. And then this’s what we’ll do on the 27th…”
Artemis had been preparing for so long to ask her (five minutes). She had known the chances of her saying no were high (unlikely, but it could cost her a bit). And she had grinned at the feeling of déjà vu when diananonfoeminanomen had written to athenenoctua to discuss a personal matter (that was how it had all started).
There were some pretty big differences. Her heart pounded in her chest just from the pleasure of talking to Minerva; she had no need to ask Butler to re-wax the floor, and if there were tea stains on her desk, she hadn’t noticed. Above all, it was a different Artemis, the one sitting in front of the monitor. An Artemis with long hair and makeup on her face. An Artemis with an electrum ring on the ring finger of her left hand.
But both this Artemis and the one who had invited Minerva to Fowl Manor last summer would have reacted to the girl’s proposal in the same way, with a grin she was used to have it described as vampire-like and saying: “Let’s do this.”
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(1) Latin for “Artemis is not a female name.”
(2) Binomial name of the little owl, sacred to Athena/Minerva
(3) Top marks in French universities, equivalent to "summa cum laude".
(4) Latin for: “Entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity”. Phrasing of Occam’s Razor, or principle of parsimony, that suggest chosing between a set of explanations the one requiring the least amount of elements to work.
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