Trust Me. I Haven't Been Wrong Yet.

Thankfully The Rest Of The World Assumed That The Irish Were Crazy, A Theory That The Irish Themselves Did Nothing To Debunk. They Had Somehow Got It Into Their Heads That Each Fairy Lugged Around A Pot Of Gold With Him Wherever He Went. While It Was True That Lep Had A Ransom Fund, Because Of Its Officers' High-risk Occupation, No Human Had Ever Taken A Chunk Of It Yet. This Didn't Stop The Irish Population In General From Skulking Around Rainbows, Hoping To Win The Supernatural Lottery.

(to Foaly) Captain Short's Life Is In Danger, So Push The Button Before I Climb That Tower And Push It With Your Face!

How Was Your... Eh... Trip?" Artemis Felt The Sting Of Tears In His Own Eyes. "um, Eventful.

Now I Can Do The Bolts," She Slurred. "i've Been Trying To Focus Enough Magic All Week." The Magic Shifted And Swirled, Finally Etching A Picture In The Air. It Was A Rough Picture Of Foaly, And He Was Laughing. I Hate You, Centaur!" Screamed Opal, Lunging Toward, And Then Through, The Insubstantial Image. Her Eyes Rolled Back Into Her Head, And Then She Collapsed, Snoring, On The Floor. Artemis Straightened His Tie. Freud, He Was Certain, Would Have A Field Day With That.

If You Were Me, Then I'd Be You, And If I Were You, Then I'd Hide Somewhere Far Away.