Forget the chicken-nugget smoke screen. Percy wanted Leo to invent an anti-dream hat.

Butch hesitated. "Annabeth's okay. You gotta cut her some slack. She had a vision telling her to come here, to find a guy with one shoe. That was supposed to be the answer to her problem." "What Problem?" Piper asked. "She's been looking for one of our campers, who's been missing three days," Butch said. "She's going out of her mind with worry. She hoped he'd be here." "Who?" Jason asked. "Her boyfriend," Butch said, "A guy named Percy Jackson.

Yours in demigodishness, and all that. Peace out!

I could hear hopefulness in her voice, but also doubt. She was waiting for me to admit the obvious: I’d forgotten. I was toast. I was boyfriend roadkill.

I sailed on the cold air currents above the rooftops of Paris. I could see the river, the Louvre Museum, the gardens and palaces. And a mouse-yum. Hang on, Carter, I thought. not hunting mice.

The store had a hand-painted sign the read: MOOSE PASS GAS. "That's just wrong," Frank said.

Two U.S. Marine skeletons guarded the doors. They grinned down at us, rocket-propelled grenade launchers held across their chests. "You know," Grover mumbled, "I bet Hades doesn't have trouble with door-to-door salesman.