I do not own Butler, Artemis, or Maria. (She was the limo driver in TLC, just thought I’d include her). I do, however, own Di and An. So no one can sue me for them. Muhahahaha! 

Mom, Di, and I were eating dinner when the phone rang. Normally, we just let it ring and then called the person back later. Mom considered dinner our time for talking and “getting away from the hassles of our regular lives”, as she called it. After the first ring, Mom checked the caller ID to see if it was anybody important, then simultaneously picked up the phone, and shoved Di and I out of the room. We resisted as well as we could, but barely had time to hear Mom ask, “Hello?” before the door slammed behind us.

Di put her ear to the door, then sighed. ”Mom’s on the other side of the room.”

“She knows us too well.” I commented.

“I wonder who she’s talking to.”

I was trying to remember how many times we had eavesdropped on our mother. There was the time when her old boyfriend broke up with her, the time she got asked out by a new boyfriend, the time a different boyfriend proposed over the phone and she turned him down because the meatloaf was burning and she didn’t want to be distracted… “It’s probably her boyfriend.”

There was a silence, then we turned towards each other and grinned evilly in unison, as though we had practiced it. (In fact, we had). We raced upstairs to her room, and picked up the extension. After a short but silent battle over who would listen, I yanked the phone away from Di. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder angrily, and went to go listen on the phone in Mom’s room. As she left I could hear her mutter something about the indignity of getting kicked out of her own room. Then I turned my attention to the conversation on the phone.

“…agreed that she was to be returned to her parents when she turned 14,” our mother’s voice stated.

“And Master Fowl is willing to wait that long. He merely requsted that I call and notify you.” This was a man’s voice, but it did not sound like someone Mom would date. He was older, but his voice was deep and menacing.

“Artemis requested something?” asked Mom, sarcasm just dripping from her voice.

“He was merely–”

“I know what he was doing, Dom. And you can tell Artemis that…” our mother uttered some very choice swear words.

“She isn’t you daughter, Maria,” the man called Dom said softly - well, for him.

There was no reply from our mother.

“Sunday, January 24, three-o-clock. You have two weeks to, ah, get your affairs in order.” 

“Why do you have to make everything sound like a death threat?” our mother replied, but the mysterious man had already hung up.

I turned on Di’s laptop, and Googled “Artemis Fowl”.

“Okay, here we go. Two entries, both from the same family. Number one, Artemis Fowl. He was born in 1960 in Ireland, married a woman named Angeline, had three children. Artemis Fowl the Second, 1990, and Myles, and Beckett Fowl, twins born in 2006. In 2000 he was on a ship that was sunk by the Russian Mafia, and was found in front of a hospital three years later.

“Number two, Artemis Fowl the Second. Born 1990 to Artemis Fowl the first and his wife. He went missing for three years, from 2005 to 2008, though he doesn’t give a real explanation. It’s said that he has the greatest intellect since Mozart, and has handled the Fowl estate for twenty or so years. He has a bodyguard named Butler, who has been with his for his entire life. He was married in 2015, and has no children, though his wife miscarried in 2016. Almost fourteen years ago.”

I looked at Di. Both she and I were almost fourteen years old.

“Any pictures?”

“Um… here’s one. The caption says ‘Artemis Fowl the Second, age 19, giving a lecture on psychology at Princeton University.’”

The picture showed a young man in his late teens standing at a podium, one had lifted up to point at a screen behind him. Black hair was combed tidily at the side (we had to zoom in to see most of this) and one hazel eye could be seen looking out at the audience.

Di looked from the picture to me, and back again. “An…”

“What?” I asked warily, brushing my black bangs away from hazel eyes. I knew what was coming.

“You look exactly like him!”

“No, I don’t Di. Come on.”

“I’m not joking, An.”

“You really think so?”

Di huffed. “I don’t see why you don’t trust me.”

I had no answer to that. My mind went back to the conversation I had just heard. “…she was to be returned to her parents when she was 14…”

I doubt anyone reading this has ever experienced anything of this sort, but it’s really hard to bring up the topic of whether or not you are the daughter of an Irish billionaire, as opposed to the driver-for-hire you’ve been living with for 13 and a half years.

I started laughing. This situation was so outrageous, there was no way it coud be true. Di started laughing with me. “I can’t believe we believed that!”

“I know!”

We went down to finish dinner, but Mom apprehended us at the bottom of the stairs. “Girls, there’s been a change of plans. I need to go to Ireland, for a… buisness trip.”

…born in Ireland…

“When?”

“January 22 is when our plane leaves. We’ll be coming back the 25th.”

…Sunday, January 24, three-o-clock…

“Why are we coming?” Di asked, not really wanting to know the answer, just hoping for a different reason.

Mom started talking over her. “Be sure to pack your bags now. We’ll be leaving next week.”

Some other stories by Salali:

• Life Of A Teenage Heiress
• Goodbye
• Enemy of Old
• 100 Years
• The Fisherman's Tale

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