Artemis walks towards the car. He sees the window roll down. A boy of about fifteen sits on the backseat. The boy has a pale complexion and raven hair. The boy raises a gun and aims it at Artemis. The boy pulls the trigger. Everything goes red, then black.
Artemis woke bathed in sweat. He'd already had this dream two times. This last time made three. An old superstition came to his mind.
"Magic comes in threes," Artemis thought aloud, "therefore I should watch out." He shook himself. He was a genius, and believed in science. He did not believe in the old Traveler myths. (A/N Nowadays gypsies are called Travelers) Yet something nagged at him. Call Holly, it said. Artemis pondered for a moment, then reached for a transmitter holly had given him. Holly will probably tell me the dream means I'm going to be the death of myself, he mused.