Ru.

“So nothing happened, Holly?” “Nothing worth talking about. When we went back in time, my emotions got a little jumbled. It was temporary, okay? Can we please focus? We are supposed to be professionals.”

“Not me,” said Orion cheerily. “I’m just a teenager with hormones running wild. And may I say, young fairy lady, they’re running wild in your direction.” Holly lifted her visor and looked the hormonal teenager in the eye. “This had better not be a game, Artemis. If you do not have some serious psychosis, you will be sorry.”

“Oh, I’m crazy, all right. I do have plenty of psychoses,” said Orion cheerily.

“Multiple personality, delusional dementia, OCD. I’ve got them all, but most of all, I’m crazy about you.”

You’re dreaming.

“Artemis?” she said, half expecting a typical snappy retort, as in, Of course it’s Artemis. Who were you expecting? But instead he simply said: “Hello.” Which was fine, and Holly was happy enough, until he followed it with: “And who might you be?”

Ooooh, D’Arvit.

Holly tugged off her helmet. “It’s me, Holly.” Artemis smiled in delight.

“Of course, yes. Artemis thinks about you all the time. It’s embarrassing that I didn’t recognize you. First time up close.” “Uh . . . Artemis thinks about me. But you don’t?” “Oh yes, I do constantly, and may I say you look even more bewitching in the flesh.” Holly felt a feeling of foreboding creep over her like the shadow of a summer storm cloud.

“Not met, per se,” replied the human youth.

“I have of course been aware of you. Seen you from afar, submerged as I was by Artemis’s personality. Thank you for releasing me, by the way. I had been making inroads in the host consciousness for some time now, since Artemis developed his little number obsession, but that jolt from your weapon was just the thing to give me the boost I needed. It was your weapon, wasn’t it?” “Yes, it was,” said Holly absently.

“And you’re welcome. I think.” A sudden idea cut through her confusion. “How many fingers am I holding up?” The boy did a quick digit check. “Four.” “And that doesn’t bother you?” “No. To me a number is a number. Four is no more a harbinger of death than any other whole number. Fractions, though, they’re freakish.” The youth smiled at his own joke. A smile of such simple saintly goodness that it would have made Artemis retch. Holly was drawn into the psychosis and had to ask,

“So if you’re not Artemis Fowl, then who are you?” The boy extended a dripping hand straight up.

Romance: -starts to become too touchy physical-