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chapter 1 Totally Obsessed

The J. Argon Clinic, Haven City, the Lower Elements; Three Months Earlier The J. Argon Clinic was not a state hospital. Nobody stayed there for free. Argon and his staff of psychologists only treated fairies who could afford it. Of all the clinic’s wealthy patients, Opal Koboi was unique. She had set up an emergency fund for herself more than a year before she was committed, just in case she ever went insane and needed to pay for treatment. It was a smart move. If Opal hadn’t set up the fund, her family would undoubtedly have moved her to a cheaper facility. Not that the facility itself made much difference to Koboi, who had spent the past year drooling and having her reflexes tested. Dr. Argon doubted if Opal would have noticed a bull troll beating its chest before her.

The fund was not the only reason why Opal was unique. Koboi was the Argon Clinic’s celebrity patient. Following the attempt by the B’wa Kell goblin triad to seize power, Opal Koboi’s name had become the most infamous four syllables under the world. After all, the pixie billionairess had formed an alliance with disgruntled LEP officer Briar Cudgeon, and funded the triad’s war on Haven. Koboi had betrayed her own kind, and now her own mind was betraying her.

For the first six months of Koboi’s incarceration, the clinic had been besieged by media filming the pixie’s every twitch. The LEP guarded her cell door in shifts, and every staff member in the facility was treated to background checks and stern glares. Nobody was exempt. Even Dr. Argon himself was subjected to random DNA swabs to ensure that he was who he said he was. The LEP wasn’t taking any chances with Koboi. If she escaped from Argon Clinic, not only would they be the laughingstock of the fairy world, but a highly dangerous criminal would be unleashed on Haven City.

But as time went by, fewer camera crews turned up at the gates each morning. After all, how many hours of drooling can an audience be expected to sit through? Gradually, the LEP crews were downsized from a dozen to six and finally to a single officer per shift. Where could Opal Koboi go? the authorities reasoned. There were a dozen cameras focused on her, twenty-four hours a day. There was a subcutaneous seeker-sleeper under the skin of her upper arm, and she was DNA swabbed four times daily. And even if someone did get Opal out, what could they do with her? The pixie couldn’t even stand without help, and the sensors said her brain waves were little more than flat lines.

That said, Dr. Argon was very proud of his prize patient, and mentioned her name often at dinner parties. Since Opal Koboi had been admitted to the clinic, it had become almost fashionable to have a relative in therapy. Almost every family on the rich list had a crazy uncle in the attic. Now that crazy uncle could receive the best of care in the lap of luxury.

If only every fairy in the facility was as docile as Opal Koboi. All she needed was a few intravenous tubes and a monitor, which had been more than paid for by her first six months’ medical fees. Dr. Argon fervently hoped that little Opal never woke up. Because once she did, the LEP would haul her off to court. And when she had been convicted of treason her assets would be frozen, including the clinic’s fund. No, the longer Opal’s nap lasted, the better for everyone, especially her. Because of their thin skulls and large brain volume, pixies were susceptible to various maladies, such as catatonia, amnesia, and narcolepsy. So it was quite possible that her coma would last for several years. And even if Opal did wake up, it was quite possible that her memory would stay locked up in some drawer in her huge pixie brain.

Dr. J. Argon did his rounds every night. He didn’t perform much hands-on therapy anymore, but he felt that it was good for the staff to feel his presence. If the other doctors knew that Jerbal Argon kept his finger on the pulse, then they were more likely to keep their own fingers on that pulse, too.

Argon always saved Opal for last. It calmed him somehow to see the small pixie asleep in her harness. Often at the end of a stressful day, he even envied Opal her untroubled existence. When it had all become too much for the pixie, her brain had simply shut down, all except for the most vital functions. She still breathed, and occasionally the monitors registered a dream spike in her brain waves. But other than that, for all intents and purposes, Opal Koboi was no more.

On one fateful night, Jerbal Argon was feeling more stressed than usual. His wife was suing for divorce on the grounds that he hadn’t said more than six consecutive words to her in over two years. The Council was threatening to pull his government grant because of all the money he was making from his new celebrity clients, and he had a pain in his hip that no amount of magic could seem to cure. The warlocks said it was probably all in his head. They seemed to think that was funny.

Argon limped down the clinic’s eastern wing, checking the plasma chart of each patient as he passed their room. He winced each time his left foot touched the floor.

The two janitor pixies, Mervall and Descant Brill, were outside Opal’s room, picking up dust with static brushes. Pixies made wonderful employees. They were methodical, patient, and determined. When a pixie was instructed to do something, you could rest assured that that thing would be done. Plus, they were cute, with their baby faces and disproportionately large heads. Just looking at a pixie cheered most people up. They were walking therapy.

“Evening, boys,” said Argon. “How’s our favorite patient?”

Merv, the elder twin, glanced up from his brush. “Same old, same old, Jerry,” he said. “I thought she moved a toe earlier, but it was just a trick of the light.” Argon laughed, but it was forced. He did not like to be called Jerry. It was his clinic after all; he deserved some respect. But good janitors were like gold dust, and the Brill brothers had been keeping the building spotless and shipshape for nearly two years now. The Brills were almost celebrities themselves. Twins were very rare among the People. Mervall and Descant were the only pixie pair currently residing in Haven. They had been featured on several TV programs, including Canto, PPTV’s highest-rated chat show.

LEP’s Corporal Grub Kelp was on sentry duty. When Argon reached Opal’s room, the corporal was engrossed in a movie on his video goggles. Argon didn’t blame him. Guarding Opal Koboi was about as exciting as watching toenails grow.

“Good film?” inquired the doctor pleasantly.

Grub raised the lenses. “Not bad. It’s a human Western. Plenty of shooting and squinting.” “Maybe I’ll borrow it when you’re finished?”

“No problem, doctor. But handle it carefully. Human disks are very expensive. I’ll give you a special cloth.” Argon nodded. He remembered Grub Kelp now. The LEP officer was very particular about his possessions. He had already written two letters of complaint to the clinic board about a protruding floor rivet that had scratched his boots.

Argon consulted Koboi’s chart. The plasma screen on the wall displayed a constantly updated feed from the sensors attached to her temples. There was no change, nor did he expect there to be. Her vitals were all normal, and her brain activity was minimal. She’d had a dream earlier in the evening but now her mind had settled. And finally, as if he needed telling, the seeker-sleeper implanted in her arm informed him that Opal Koboi was indeed where she was supposed to be. Generally, the seeker-sleepers were implanted in the head, but pixie skulls were too fragile for any local surgery.

Jerbal punched in his personal code on the reinforced door’s keypad. The heavy door slid back to reveal a spacious room with gently pulsing floor mood lights. The walls were soft plastic, and gentle sounds of nature spilled from recessed speakers. At the moment a brook was splashing over flat rocks.

In the middle of the room, Opal Koboi hung suspended in a full body harness. The straps were gel padded and they adjusted automatically to any body movement. If Opal did happen to wake, the harness could be remotely triggered to seal like a net, preventing her from harming herself or escaping.

Argon checked the monitor pads, making sure they had good contact on Koboi’s forehead. He lifted one of the pixie’s eyelids, shining a pencil light at the pupil. It contracted slightly, but Opal did not avert her eyes.

“Well, anything to tell me today, Opal?” asked the doctor softly. “An opening chapter for my book?” Argon liked to talk to Koboi, just in case she could hear. When she woke up, he reasoned, he would have already established rapport.

“Nothing? Not a single insight?”

Opal did not react. As she hadn’t for almost a year.

“Ah well,” said Argon, swabbing the inside of Koboi’s mouth with the last cotton ball in his pocket. “Maybe tomorrow, eh?” He rolled the cotton ball across a sponge pad on his clipboard. Seconds later, Opal’s name flashed up on a tiny screen.

“DNA never lies,” muttered Argon, tossing the ball into a recycling bin.

With one last look at his patient, Jerbal Argon turned toward the door.

“Sleep well, Opal,” he said almost fondly.

He felt calm again, the pain in his hip almost forgotten. Koboi was as far under as she had ever been. She wasn’t going to wake up any time soon. The Koboi fund was safe.

It’s amazing just how wrong one gnome can be.

Opal Koboi was not catatonic, but neither was she awake. She was somewhere in between, floating in a liquid world of meditation, where every memory was a bubble of multicolored light popping gently in her consciousness.

Since her early teens Opal had been a disciple of Gola Schweem, the cleansing coma guru. Schweem’s theory was that there was a deeper level of sleep than experienced by most fairies. The cleansing coma state could usually only be reached after decades of discipline and practice. Opal had reached her first cleansing coma at the age of fourteen.

The benefits of the cleansing coma were that a fairy could spend the sleep time thinking, or in this case, plotting, and also awake feeling completely refreshed. Opal’s coma was so complete that her mind was almost entirely separated from her body. She could fool the sensors, and felt no embarrassment at the indignities of intravenous feeding and assisted bathings. The longest recorded consciously self-induced coma was forty-seven days. Opal had been under for eleven months and counting, though she wasn’t planning to be counting much longer.

When Opal Koboi had joined forces with Briar Cudgeon and his goblins, she had realized that she would need a backup plan. Their scheme to overthrow the LEP had been ingenious, but there had always been a chance that something could go wrong. In the event that it did, Opal had had no intention of spending the rest of her life in prison. The only way she could make a clean getaway was if everybody thought she was still locked up. So Opal had begun to make preparations.

The first had been to set up the emergency fund for the Argon Clinic. This would ensure that she would be sent to the right place if she had to induce a cleansing coma. The second step had been to get two of her most trusted personnel installed in the clinic, to help with her eventual escape. Then she began siphoning huge amounts of gold from her businesses. Opal did not wish to become an impoverished exile.

The final step had been to donate some of her own DNA, and green-light the creation of a clone that would take her place in the padded cell. Cloning was completely illegal, and had been banned by fairy law for more than five hundred years, since the first experiments in Atlantis. Cloning was by no means a perfect science. Doctors had never been able to create an exact fairy clone. The clones looked fine, but they were basically shells with only enough brain power to run the body’s basic functions. They were missing the spark of true life. A fully grown clone resembled nothing more than the original person in a coma. Perfect.

Opal had had a greenhouse lab constructed far from Koboi Industries, and had diverted enough funds to keep the project active for two years: the exact time it would take to grow a clone of herself to adulthood. Then, when she wanted to escape from the Argon Clinic, a perfect replica of herself would be left in her place. The LEP would never know she was gone.

As things had turned out, she had been right to plan ahead. Briar had proved treacherous, and a small group of fairies and humans had ensured that his betrayal would lead to her own downfall. Now Opal had a goal to bolster her willpower. She would maintain this coma for as long as it took, because there was a score to be settled. Foaly, Root, Holly Short, and the human Artemis Fowl. They were the ones responsible for her defeat. Soon she would be free of this clinic, and then she would visit those who had caused her such despair and give them a little despair of their own. Once her enemies were defeated she could proceed with the second phase of her plan: introducing the Mud Men to the People in a way that could not be covered up by a few mind wipes. The secret life of fairies was almost at an end.

Opal Koboi’s brain released a few happy endorphins. The thought of revenge always gave her a warm fuzzy feeling.

The Brill brothers watched Dr. Argon limp up the corridor.

“Moron,” muttered Merv, using his telescopic vacuum pole to chase some dust out of a corner.

“You said it,” agreed Scant. “Old Jerry couldn’t analyze a bowl of vole curry. No wonder his wife is leaving him. If he was any good as a shrink, he would’ve seen that coming.” Merv collapsed the vacuum. “How are we doing?”

Scant checked his moonometer. “Ten past eight.”

“Good. How’s Corporal Kelp?”

“Still watching the movie. This guy is perfect. We have to go tonight. The LEP could send someone smart for the next shift. And if we wait any longer, the clone will grow another inch.” “You’re right. Check the spy cameras.”

Scant lifted the lid on what appeared to be a janitor’s trolley, festooned as it was with mops, rags, and sprays. Hidden beneath a tray of vacuum nozzles was a color monitor split into several screens.

“Well?” hissed Merv.

Scant did not answer immediately, taking time to check all the screens. The video feed was from various micro-cameras that Opal had installed around the clinic before her incarceration. The spy cameras were actually genetically engineered organic material. So the pictures they sent were literally a live feed. The world’s first living machines. Totally undetectable by bug sweepers.

“Night crew only,” he said at last. “Nobody in this sector except Corporal Idiot over there.” “What about the parking lot?”

“Clear.”

Merv held out his hand. “Okay, brother. This is it. No turning back. Are we in? Do we want Opal Koboi back?” Scant blew a lock of black hair from one round pixie eye.

“Yes, because if she comes back on her own, Opal will find a way to make us suffer,” he said, shaking his brother’s hand. “So yes, we’re in.” Merv took a remote control from his pocket. The device was tuned to a sonix receiver planted in the clinic’s gable wall. This in turn was connected to a balloon of acid that lay gently on the clinic’s main power cube in the parking lot junction box. A second balloon sat atop the backup cube in the maintenance basement. As the clinic’s janitors, it had been a simple matter for Merv and Scant to plant the acid balloons the previous evening. Of course, the Argon Clinic was also connected to the main grid, but if the cubes did go down, there would be a two-minute interval before the main power kicked in. There was no need for more elaborate arrangements; after all, this was a medical facility, not a prison.

Merv took a deep breath, flicked the safety cover, and pressed the red button. The remote control emitted an infrared command activating two sonix charges. The charges sent out sound waves that burst the balloons, and the balloons dumped their acidic contents on the clinic’s power cubes. Twenty seconds later the cubes were completely eaten away and the whole building was plunged into darkness. Merv and Scant quickly put on night-vision goggles.

As soon as the power failed, green strip lights began pulsing gently on the floor, guiding the way to the exits. Merv and Scant moved quickly and purposefully. Scant steered the trolley, and Merv made straight for Corporal Kelp.

Grub was pulling the video glasses from over his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, disoriented by the sudden darkness. “What’s going on here?” “Power failure,” said Merv, bumping into him with calculated clumsiness. “Those lines are a nightmare. I’ve been telling Dr. Argon, but nobody wants to spend money on maintenance when there are fancy company cars to be bought.” Merv was not chatting for the fun of it; he was waiting for the soluble sedative pad he had pressed onto Grub’s wrist to take effect.

“Tell me about it,” said Grub, suddenly blinking a lot more than he generally did. “I’ve been lobbying for new lockers at Police Plaza. I’m really thirsty. Is anyone else thirsty?” Grub stiffened, frozen by the serum that was spreading through his system. The LEP officer would snap out of it in under two minutes and be instantly alert. He would have no memory of his unconsciousness, and with luck, he would not notice the time lapse.

“Go,” said Scant tersely.

Merv was already gone. With ease, he punched Dr. Argon’s code into Opal’s door. He completed this action faster than Argon ever could, due to hours spent practicing on a stolen pad in his apartment. Argon’s code changed every week, but the Brill brothers made certain that they were cleaning outside the room when Argon was on his rounds. The pixies generally had the complete code by midweek.

The battery-powered pad light winked green, and the door slid back. Opal Koboi swung gently before him, suspended in her harness like a bug in an exotic cocoon.

Merv winched her down onto the trolley. Moving briskly, and with practiced precision, he rolled up Opal’s sleeve and located the scar in her upper arm where the seeker-sleeper had been inserted. He gripped the hard lump between his thumb and forefinger.

“Scalpel,” he said, holding out his free hand. Scant passed him the instrument. Merv took a breath, held it, and made a one-inch incision in Opal’s flesh. He wiggled his index finger into the hole and rolled out the electronic capsule. It was encased in silicone and roughly the size of a painkiller.

“Seal it up,” he ordered.

Scant bent close to the wound and placed a thumb at each end.

“Heal,” he whispered, and blue sparks of fairy magic ran rings around his fingers, sinking into the wound. In seconds the folds of skin had zipped themselves together, with only a pale pink scar to show that a cut had been made—a scar almost identical to the one that already existed. Opal’s own magic had dried up months ago, as she was in no position to complete a power-restoring ritual.

“Miss Koboi,” said Merv briskly. “Time to get up. Wakey-wakey.”

He unstrapped Opal completely from the harness. The unconscious pixie collapsed onto the lid of the cleaning trolley. Merv slapped her across the cheek, bringing a blush to her face. Opal’s breathing rate increased slightly, but her eyes remained closed.

“Jolt her,” said Scant.

Merv pulled an LEP-issue buzz baton from inside his jacket. He powered it up and touched Opal on the elbow. The pixie’s body jerked spasmodically, and Opal Koboi shot into consciousness, a sleeper waking from a nightmare.

“Cudgeon,” she screamed. “You betrayed me!”

Merv grabbed her shoulders. “Miss Koboi. It’s us, Mervall and Descant. It’s time.” Opal glared at him, wild eyed.

“Brill?” she said after several deep breaths.

“That’s right. Merv and Scant. We need to go.”

“Go? What do you mean?”

“Leave,” said Merv urgently. “We have about a minute.”

Opal shook her head, dislodging the after-trance daze. “Merv and Scant. We need to go.” Merv helped her from the trolley’s lid. “That’s right. The clone is ready.” Scant peeled back a sealed foil false bottom in the trolley. Inside lay a cloned replica of Opal Koboi wearing an Argon Clinic coma suit. The clone was identical, down to the last follicle. Scant removed an oxygen mask from the clone’s face, hauled it from its resting place, and began cinching her into the harness.

“Remarkable,” said Opal, brushing the clone’s skin with her knuckle. “Am I that beautiful?” “Oh yes,” said Merv. “That and more.”

Suddenly, Opal screeched. “Idiots. Its eyes are open. It can see me!”

Scant closed the clone’s lids hurriedly. “Don’t worry, Miss Koboi, it can’t tell anyone, even if its brain could decipher what it sees.” Opal climbed groggily into the trolley. “But its eyes can register images. Foaly may think to check. That infernal centaur.” “Don’t fret, Miss,” said Scant, folding the trolley’s false bottom over his mistress. “Very soon now, that will be the least of Foaly’s worries.” Opal strapped the oxygen mask across her face. “Later,” she said, her voice muffled by the plastic. “Talk, later.” Koboi drifted into a natural sleep, exhausted by even this small exertion. It could be hours before the pixie regained consciousness. After a coma of that length, there was even the risk that Opal would never be quite as smart as she once was.

“Time?” said Merv.

Scant glanced at his moonometer. “Thirty seconds left.”

Merv finished cinching the straps exactly as they had been. Pausing only to dab sweat from his brow, he made a second incision with his scalpel, this time in the clone’s arm, and inserted the seeker-sleeper. While Scant sealed the cut with a blast of magical sparks, Merv rearranged the cleaning paraphernalia over the trolley’s false section.

Scant bobbed impatiently. “Eight seconds, seven. By the gods, this is the last time I break the boss out of a clinic and replace her with a clone.” Merv spun the trolley on its castors, pushing it through the open doorway. “Five…four…” Scant did one last check around, running his eyeballs across everything they had touched.

“Three…two…”

They were out, pulling the door behind them.

“One…”

Corporal Grub slumped slightly, then jerked to attention.

“Hey…what the? I’m really thirsty. Is anyone else thirsty?”

Merv stuffed the night-vision goggles into the trolley, blinking a bead of sweat from his eyelid. “It’s the air in here. I get dehydrated all the time. Terrible headaches.” Grub pinched the bridge of his nose. “Me too. I’m going to write a letter, as soon as the lights come back.” Just then the lights did come back, flickering on one after another down the length of the corridor.

“There we go.” Scant grinned. “Panic over. Maybe now they’ll buy us some new circuits, eh, brother?” Dr. Argon came barreling down the passageway, almost keeping pace with the flickering lights.

“Your hip is better, then, Jerry?” said Merv.

Argon ignored the pixies, his eyes wide, his breath ragged.

“Corporal Kelp,” he panted. “Koboi, is she? Has she…”

Grub rolled his eyes. “Calm yourself, doctor. Miss Koboi is still suspended where you left her. Take a look.” Argon flattened his palms against the wall, first checking the vitals.

“Okay, no change. No change. A two-minute lapse, but that’s okay.”

“I told you,” said Grub. “And while you’re here, I need to talk to you about these headaches I’ve been having.” Argon brushed him aside. “I need a cotton ball. Scant, do you have any?”

Scant slapped his pockets. “Sorry, Jerry. Not on me.”

“Don’t call me Jerry!” howled Jerbal Argon, ripping the lid from the cleaning trolley. “There must be cotton balls in here somewhere,” he said, sweat pasting thin hair across his wide gnome’s forehead. “It’s a janitor’s box, for heaven’s sake.” His blunt fingers scrabbled through the trolley’s contents, scraping across the false bottom.

Merv elbowed him out of the way before he could discover the secret compartment or spy screens. “Here we are, doctor,” he said, grabbing a tub of cotton balls. “A month’s supply. Knock yourself out.” Argon fumbled a single ball from the pack, discarding the rest.

“DNA never lies,” he muttered, punching his code into the keypad. “DNA never lies.” He rushed into the room and roughly swabbed the inside of the clone’s mouth. The Brill brothers held their breath. They had expected to be out of the clinic before this happened. Argon rolled the cotton ball’s head across the sponge pad on his clipboard. A moment later, Opal Koboi’s name flashed onto the board’s miniplasma screen.

Argon heaved a massive sigh, resting his hands on both knees. He threw the observers a shamefaced grin. “Sorry. I panicked. If we lost Koboi, the clinic would never live it down. I’m just a little paranoid, I suppose. Faces can be altered, but…” “DNA never lies,” said Merv and Scant simultaneously.

Grub reset his video goggles. “I think Dr. Argon needs a little vacation.” “You’re telling me.” Merv snickered, rolling the trolley toward the maintenance elevator. “Anyway, we’d better get going, brother. We need to isolate the cause of the power failure.” Scant followed him down the corridor. “Any idea where the problem could be?” “I have a hunch. Let’s try the parking lot, or maybe the basement.”

“Whatever you say. After all, you are the older brother.”

“And wiser,” added Merv. “Don’t forget that.”

The pixies continued down the corridor, their brisk banter masking the fact that their knees were shaking and their hearts were battering their rib cages. It wasn’t until they had removed the evidence of their acid bombs, and were well on their way home in the van, that they began to breathe normally again.

Back in the apartment he shared with Scant, Merv unzipped Koboi from her sealed hiding place. Any worries they’d had about Opal’s IQ taking a dip immediately vanished. Their employer’s eyes were bright and aware.

“Bring me up to speed,” she said, climbing shakily from the trolley. Even though her mind was fully functioning, it would take a couple of days in an electromassager to get her muscles back to normal.

Merv helped her onto a low sofa. “Everything is in place. The funds, the surgeon, everything.” Opal drank greedily straight from a jug of core water on the coffee table. “Good, good. And what of my enemies?” Scant stood beside his brother. They were almost identical except for a slight wideness in Merv’s brow. Merv had always been the smart one.

“We have kept tabs on them, as you asked,” said Scant.

Opal stopped drinking. “Asked?”

“Instructed,” stammered Scant. “Instructed, of course. That’s what I meant.” Koboi’s eyes narrowed. “I do hope the Brill brothers haven’t developed any independent notions since I’ve been asleep.” Scant stooped slightly, almost bowing. “No, no, Miss Koboi. We live to serve. Only to serve.” “Yes,” agreed Opal. “And you live only as long as you do serve. Now, my enemies. They are well and happy, I trust.” “Oh yes. Julius Root goes from strength to strength as LEP Commander. He has been nominated for the Council.” Opal smiled a vicious wolverine’s smile. “The Council. Such a long way to fall. And Holly Short?” “Back on full active duty. Six successful reconnaissance missions since you induced your coma. Her name has been put on the list for promotion to major.” “Major, indeed. Well, the least we can do is to make sure that promotion never comes through. I plan to wreck Holly Short’s career, so she dies in disgrace.” “The centaur Foaly is as obnoxious as ever,” continued Scant Brill. “I suggest a particularly nasty…” Opal raised a delicate finger, cutting him off. “No. Nothing happens to Foaly just yet. He will be defeated by intellect alone. Twice in my life, someone has outsmarted me. Both times it was Foaly. Just killing him requires no ingenuity. I want him beaten, humiliated, and alone.” She clapped her hands in delighted anticipation. “And then I will kill him.” “We have been monitoring Artemis Fowl’s communications. Apparently the human youth has spent most of the past year trying to find a certain painting. We have traced the painting to Munich.” “A painting? Really?” Cogwheels turned in Opal’s brain. “Well, let’s make sure we get to it before he does. Maybe we can add a little something to his work of art.” Scant nodded. “Yes. That’s not a problem. I’ll go tonight.”

Opal stretched out on the sofa like a cat in the sunlight. “Good. This is turning out to be a lovely day. Now, send for the surgeon.” The Brill brothers glanced at each other.

“Miss Koboi?” said Mervall nervously.

“Yes, what is it?”

“The surgeon. This kind of operation cannot be reversed, even by magic. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to think…” Opal leaped from the sofa. Her cheeks were crimson with rage. “Think! You’d like me to think about it! What do you imagine I have been doing for the past year? Thinking! Twenty-four hours a day. I don’t care about magic. Magic did not help me to escape, science did. Science will be my magic. Now, no more advice, Merv, or your brother will be an only child. Is that clear?” Merv was stunned. He had never seen Opal in such a rage. The coma had changed her.

“Yes, Miss Koboi.”

“Now, summon the surgeon.”

“At once, Miss Koboi.”

Opal lay back on the sofa. Soon everything would be right in the world. Her enemies would shortly be dead or discredited. Once those loose ends were tied up, she could get on with her new life. Koboi rubbed the tips of her pointed ears. What would she look like, she wondered, as a human?