Artemis- Alcoholic Fairy Injections

“Irish, actually. Now, about my proposition?”
The healer shook a bony finger craftily. “Wine first. Then talk.”
“Butler?”
The bodyguard reached into a pocket, and drew out a half pint of the
finest Irish whiskey. Artemis took the bottle and held it teasingly beyond
the shadows. He barely had time to remove his goggles when the clawlike
hand darted from the gloom to snatch the whiskey. A mottled green hand.
There was no doubt.
Artemis swallowed a triumphant grin.
...

“Yes, Irish. Sore head. Bad tooth. I heal.”
Artemis replaced the night-vision goggles and squatted to her level.
“I am perfectly healthy, madam, apart from a slight dust-mite allergy,
and I don’t think even you can do anything about that. No. What I want
from you is your Book.”
The hag froze. Bright eyes glinted from beneath the shawl.
“Book?” she said cautiously. “I don’t know about no book. I am
healer. You want book, go to library.”
Artemis sighed with exaggerated patience. “You are no healer. You
are a sprite, p’shóg, fairy, ka-dalun. Whichever language you prefer to use.
And I want your Book.”
For a long moment, the creature said nothing, then she threw back the
shawl from her forehead. In the green glow of the night-vision goggles,
her features leaped at Artemis like a Halloween mask. The fairy’s nose
was long and hooked under two slitted golden eyes. Her ears were pointed,
and the alcohol addiction had melted her skin like putty.
“If you know about the Book, human,” she said slowly, fighting the
numbing effects of the whiskey, “then you know about the magic I have in
my fist. I can kill you with a snap of my fingers!”
Artemis shrugged. “I think not. Look at you. You are near dead. The
rice wine has dulled your senses. Reduced to healing warts. Pathetic. I am
here to save you, in return for the Book.”
“What could a human want with our Book?”
“That is no concern of yours. All you need to know are your options.”
The sprite’s pointed ears quivered. “Options?”
“One, you refuse to give us the Book and we go home, leaving you to
rot in this sewer.”
“Yes,” said the fairy. “I choose this option.”
“Ah, no. Don’t be so eager. If we leave without the Book, you will be
dead in a day.”
“A day! A day!” the healer laughed. “I will outlive you by a century.
Even fairies tethered to the human realm can survive the ages.”
“Not with half a pint of holy water inside them,” said Artemis,
tapping the now empty whiskey bottle.
The fairy blanched, then screamed, a high keening horrible sound.
“Holy water! You have murdered me, human.”
“True,” admitted Artemis. “It should start to burn any minute now.”
The fairy poked her stomach tentatively. “The second option?”
“Listening now, are we? Very well then. Option two. You give me the
Book for thirty minutes only. Then I return your magic to you.”
The sprite’s jaw dropped. “Return my magic? Not possible.”
“Oh, but it is. I have in my possession two ampoules.
One, a vial of spring water from the fairy well sixty meters below the
ring of Tara—possibly the most magical place on earth. This will
counteract the holy water.”
“And the other?”
“The other is a little shot of man-made magic. A virus that feeds on
alcohol, mixed with a growth agent. It will flush every drop of rice wine
from your body, remove the dependence, and even bolster your failing
liver. It’ll be messy, but after a day you’ll be zipping around as though you
were a thousand years old again.”
The sprite licked her lips. To be able to rejoin the People? Tempting.
“How do I know to trust you, human? You have tricked me once
already.”
“Good point. Here’s the deal. I give you the water on faith. Then,
after I’ve had a look at the Book, you get the booster. Take it or leave it.”
The fairy considered. The pain was already curling around her
abdomen. She thrust out her wrist.
“I’ll take it.”
“I thought you might. Butler?”
The giant manservant unwrapped a soft Velcroed case containing a
syringe gun and two vials. He loaded the clear one, shooting it into the
sprite’s clammy arm. The fairy stiffened momentarily, and then relaxed.
“Strong magic,” she breathed.
“Yes. But not as strong as your own will be when I give you the
second injection. Now, the Book.”
The sprite reached into the folds of her filthy robe, rummaging for an
age. Artemis held his breath. This was it. Soon the Fowls would be great
again. A new empire would rise, with Artemis Fowl the Second at its
head.
The fairy woman withdrew a closed fist.
“No use to you anyway. Written in the old tongue.”
Artemis nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She opened her knobbly fingers. Lying in her palm was a tiny golden
volume the size of a matchbox.
“Here, human. Thirty of your minutes. No more.”
...

“Nice doing business with you.”
The sprite lurched to her knees.“The other potion, human?”
Artemis smiled. “Oh yes, the restoring booster. I suppose I did
promise.”
“Yes. Human promised.”
“Very well. But before we administer it, I must warn you that purging
is not pleasant. You’re not going to enjoy this one bit.”
The fairy gestured around her at the squalid filth. “You think I enjoy
this? I want to fly again.”
Butler loaded the second vial, shooting this one straight into the
carotid artery.
The sprite immediately collapsed on the mat, her entire frame
quivering violently.
“Time to leave,” commented Artemis. “A hundred years of alcohol
leaving a body by any means possible is not a pretty sight.”
...

“The sprite. Why didn’t we simply keep the Book and leave her to
die?”
“A corpse is evidence, Butler. My way, the People will have no
reason to be suspicious.”
“But the sprite?”
“I hardly think she will confess to showing humans the Book. In any
case, I mixed a slight amnesiac into her second injection. When she finally
wakes up, the last week will be a blur.”
Butler nodded appreciatively. Always two steps ahead, that was
Master Artemis.

- Artemis Fowl, Chapter 1