...to be injured on this tundra would lead to a quick and painful death—or at the very least abject humiliation before the popping flashes of the tourist season's tail end, which was slightly less painful than a painful death, but lasted longer.

I'm on my feet, pacing around the room, punching a fist into my palm, which I stop doing when I realise how drama queen it feels.

Tea? At the beach? No time for luxuries, Holly. There is important work to be done.” He winked at Butler. “Are you sure you’re at the library? I thought I heard water.” Artemis smiled, enjoying the exchange. “Water? Surely not. The only thing flowing here is information.” “Are you grinning, Artemis? For some reason I get the feeling that you’re wearing that smug smile of yours.

We're being lead by an idiot with a crayon.

I am unarmed. But Butler here, my ...ah...butler, has a Sig Saucer in his shoulder holster, two shrike-throwing knives in his boots, aderringer two-shot up his sleeve, garrotte wire in his watch, and three stun greanades concealed in variouse pockets. Anything else, Butler?

My truffles? You took them? That's just mean!

Oh, I'm crazy all right. I do have plenty of psychoses. Multiple personality, delusional dementia, OCD. I've got them all, but most of all, I'm crazy about you.