She is in pain, thought Artemis, opening one eye a slit. In agony. But I cannot stop now.

Artemis dug down deep, searching his extremities for the last scraps of magic inside him.

Everything. Give her every last spark.

Magic was not an intrinsic part of Artemis; he had stolen it and now he threw it off again, stuffing all he had into the attempted healing. And yet it wasn’t working. No, more than that. Her sickness grew stronger. Repelling each blue wave, robbing the sparks of their colour and power, sending them skittering to the ceiling.

Something is wrong, thought Artemis, bile in his throat, a dagger of pain over his left eye. It shouldn’t be like this.

The final drop of magic left his body with a jolt and Artemis was thrown from his mother’s bedside and sent skidding across the floor, then tumbling head over heels until he came to rest sprawled against a chaise longue. Angeline Fowl spasmed a final time, then collapsed back on to her mattress. Her body was soaked with a strange thick, clear gel. Magical sparks flickered and died in the coating, which steamed off almost as quickly as it had appeared.

Artemis lay with his head in his hands, waiting for the chaos in his brain to stop, unable to move or think. His own breathing seemed to rasp against his skull. Eventually, the pain faded to echoes, and jumbled words formed themselves into sentences.

The magic is gone. Spent. I am entirely human.

Artemis registered the sound of the bedroom door creaking and he opened his eyes to find Butler and his father staring down at him, concern large on their faces.

‘We heard a crash. You must have fallen,’ said Artemis Senior, lifting his son by the elbow. ‘I should never have let you in here alone, but I thought that perhaps you could do something. You have certain talents, I know. I was hoping …’ He straightened his son’s shirt, patted his shoulders. ‘It was stupid of me.’