Chapter 3

Artemis

The next day I still can't stop thinking about the girl.

Yes, I know, that's such a cliché. But it's not why you think.

After the party that I now considered to be a little more useful than I thought, I did a little web search on Skylar Woodley. Turns out she is who she says she is. Well, she never said it, but that's irrelevant.

'Skylar Woodley,' the search engine informed me, 'is a fourteen-year-old genius. She has won numerous science and mathematics prizes, as well as literature prizes, her most well known being the Cartesan Prize for her novel _Quiet Observations of an Outsider_. Miss Woodley is also the pioneer of an advanced scientific field she discovered, Pychirinian. She is Scottish, and is originally from Aberdeen, but her family have apparently recently moved to somewhere in Ireland. The secrecy surrounding the location is confusing to many journalists. Maybe they just don't want harassed by the paparazzi.'

"Or maybe it's something else..." I had countered aloud, before hacking into the phone I had seen in her hand at the party and synced with. Forward planning.

Her location told me she was somewhere rural outside Dublin, so I hacked into the many computers in the mystery location to find out exactly where she was.

A few seconds later the computer beeped.

The Quinn Estate. Oh no.

Miss Woodley is a Quinn. The Quinns, by the way, are an underground organisation of thieves. And the Fowls hate the Quinns.

But I have been thinking. Maybe we could collaborate. The thing is, I need the Pychirinian. The Project requires it, and it's the one thing I just can't get my head around.

Also, I'd quite some, as she said, "intelligent conversation" on tap when I get frustrated with the dimwits surrounding me.

This Skylar intrigues me, though. Everything she radiates reminds me of my younger self.

I call up a picture of her collecting one of all those prizes, and look at her face again. Pale. Snub nose and a careless slash of a mouth. Grey eyes that seem more like liquid silver than grey. Those features are - were mine, except my eyes were blue. But from there she is completely different.

Her hair, the colour of copper, is long and full of light waves that curl around ears that look like they should be pointy, and she stands straight and has a confident air about her. She isn't particularly tall, or small, or beautiful, or even very remarkable (save her eyes) outwardly. I guess being as clever as us two means you can't look _too_ good, or the world would hate you.

I turn off the computer and think. Is it worth working with her? The Project is top secret. I'm the only one who knows about it. And she's a Quinn too.

Skylar Woodley. Fellow genius. Overall though, would she even want to help me?

A thought occurs to me and I turn on my (non-Myles-destroyed) laptop again and begin to tap out an email. I could just ask her...

Skylar

Beep.

Something in my computer room beeps. I wonder what it could be?

I put down my tablet and chocolate chip cookie (best combination EVER), dislodge Biscotti, who replies with a resentful hiss, and make my way through the computers. Quickly scanning the screens, I discover that someone has sent me an email. I open it.

To- skylarwoodley

From - .2nd

Miss Woodley,

You will probably be slightly surprised that I have this address. Don't be. I have all the addresses, because I own Kina, though not many people know that. But anyway, to the point.

I have been working on a project recently, one that could change the world. That is not a claim to be taken lightly, but it's true. And you should know that it pains me to say this, but I need your help.

You invented Pychirinian, a science that I need to complete this project. But I have my weaknesses, and one is that I can't get my head around that. (And no, I will not tell you any of the other weaknesses. I'm not a complete dimwit.)

So yes, I am asking if you could help me out. To change the world. I have plenty of funds.

Also, persons of less intellect (a.k.a most of the world) annoy me. And it was interesting talking to an equal.

Kind regards

Artemis Fowl II

I stare at the email impassively and consider it. Apparently this project could change the world. And it can't go ahead without me. That puts me in a position of power. I could call up a few favours from the Fowls while I'm about it.

Also, I agree with him about the intelligent conversation.

I grin mischievously and tap out a reply.

To- .2nd

From- skylarwoodley

Okay. I'm in, but I might just have to ask a few favours with this one.

He replies within a few minutes.

Name your price.

I grin again. This is a good position to be in.

I need more equipment and all that jazz. This is dependent on whatever this mystery project is. As well as my consultant fee.

The reply to this one surprises me.

You know, I said that last line exactly one time. That's... slightly creepy. How much do you know about me, Woodley?

Weird, I think, before replying.

Not much. You don't exactly advertise your achievements very much.

Safest way. You have no idea how many people are out to get you once you're famous. Anyway, when are you free?

I think about this one.

Tomorrow would be okay. Noon?

Got it. Can I come to yours? My parents might get a bit... funny.

I laugh aloud. Parents and siblings. They always assume.

Okey doke. I assume you already know where 'mine' is?

Correct. That's how us genii are. See you there.