The Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer Page A

“Just let the sublime music flow over you, enjoy the show. Don’t you know how difficult it is to get a box for a Vincenzo Bellini opera? Especially Norma . Norma combines the requirements of both a coloratura and a dramatic soprano. And the soprano is excellent, comparable to Callas herself.”
    Butler grunted. Perhaps it was difficult for ordinary people to get a box in the theater, but Artemis had simply called his billionaire environmentalist friend, Giovanni Zito. The Sicilian had gladly surrendered his own box in exchange for two cases of the finest Bordeaux. Hardly surprising, since Artemis had recently invested more than ten million dollars in Zito’s water purification research.
    “A Sicilian drinking Bordeaux?” Artemis had chuckled on the phone. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
    “Keep your watch pointed at the stage,” directed Artemis, interrupting Butler’s thoughts. “The chances are minuscule that a demon will be caught without silver, even away from the crater, but if one does show up, I want it on film to prove to Foaly that my theory is correct. If we don’t have incontrovertible proof, the fairy Council will never take action.”
    Butler checked that his watch crystal, which doubled as a camera lense, was angled toward the stage. “The camera is fine, but if you don’t mind, I won’t be letting the sublime music flow over me. I have enough to do keeping you safe.”
    The Bellini Theatre was a bodyguard’s nightmare. Multiple entrances and exits, more than a thousand patrons that refused to be frisked, hundreds of golden arches that could conceal a gunman, and countless nooks, crannies, and corridors that probably didn’t appear on the theater plan. Nevertheless, Butler was reasonably confident that he had done all he could to protect Artemis.
    Of course, there were certain things that bodyguards could not guard against, as Butler was about to find out. Invisible things.
    Artemis’s phone vibrated gently. Usually Artemis deplored the kind of person who kept their phone on during a performance, but this phone was special and he never turned it off. It was the fairy communicator given to him by Holly Short, plus a few modifications and add-ons made by Artemis himself.
    The phone was the size and shape of a quarter with a pulsing red crystal at its center. This was a fairy omnisensor, which could interface with any communications system, including the human body. The phone was disguised as a rather ostentatious ring on Artemis’s middle finger. Artemis twisted the ring so that the phone sat on his palm, then closed his middle fingers, extending his thumb and little finger. The sensor would decode vibrations in his little finger and send them as voice patterns. It would also use the bones in his hand to transmit the caller’s voice to the tip of his thumb.
    Artemis looked for all the world like a young boy talking on an imaginary phone.
    “Holly?” he said.
    Butler watched as Artemis listened for a few moments, hung up and twisted the phone back into ring position.
    He looked steadily at Butler. “Don’t draw your weapon,” he said.
    Which of course had Butler reaching for the butt of his Sig Sauer.
    “It’s fine,” said Artemis reassuringly. “Someone is here. A friend.”
    Butler’s hand dropped to his side. He knew who it was.
    Holly Short materialized in the velvet-covered seat beside Artemis. Her knees were drawn to her chin, and her pointed ears were covered by a black helmet. As she fizzled into the visible spectrum, a full-face visor collapsed into sections and stored itself in her helmet. Her arrival among the humans was covered by the theater’s darkness.
    “Afternoon, Mud Boys,” she said, smiling. Her hazel eyes sparkled impishly, or more accurately, elfishly .
    “Thanks for calling ahead,” said Butler sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want to spook anyone. No shimmer?”
    Usually when fairies used their magic to shield, the only thing visible was a slight