A/N: Hi, I'm back. This is a new story, completely separate from any previous work of mine, and in a pretty different style, where the story will be told out of chronological order. Leave some feedback about it! As always, Artemis Fowl belongs to Eoin Colfer.

Prologue - Do angels ever forget?

'Angel' is the name of their office, not of their nature. If you seek the name of their nature, it is 'spirit'; if you seek the name of their office, it is 'angel': from what they are, 'spirit', from what they do, 'angel.' - St. Augustine

Angeline Fowl knelt next to the bed with a large book of prayers open on top of the covers.

"Angel of God," she began, touching the words on the page.

"My guardian dear," continued her son next to her, his eyes closed. He had memorized nearly all the prayers in there weeks ago.

Angeline glanced over at her son and the corners of her mouth lifted up in a small smile despite herself.

"To Whom His love," she read.

"Commits me here"

"Ever this day"

"Be at my side"

"To light and guard"

"To rule and guide"


Angeline closed the book and set it on the bed. Turning, she gave young Artemis a warm hug and a quick kiss on the forehead before he pulled himself up onto the low bed and wormed his way into the covers. The woman pulled the covers tight over Artemis.

Artemis Fowl had a contemplative look in his eyes though, one that maybe seemed a little off for a two-and-a-half year-old.

"Mommy," he asked after a moment, "there are so many people to care about, and so many things to do."

The boy's brow furrowed slightly. "Would our guardian angels ever get too busy and forget about us?"

Angeline smiled slightly and looked down at her son, smoothing his dark hair away from his forehead. "I don't think so," she said, "I think if an angel is assigned to us, God gives him all the time in the world to help us."

Artemis seemed to think about that for a bit.

"Good," he declared solemnly.

His mother couldn't tell if he was thinking about anyone or anything in particular.

"Good night, Mommy."

Angeline rose and turned to flick the lights off.

"Good night, Arty," she said softly. "Maybe dream of your guardian angel."