Then there was Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave Leo the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger, and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair struck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he’d stared into the depths of Tartarus—which he had.

She'd also called me brave...unless she was talking to the catfish.

I stared at the river far below. "Why did you park us on the mountain? Why not closer?" Bast shrugged, as if this hadn't occurred to her. "Cats like to get as high up as possible. In case we have to pounce on something." "Great," I said. "So if we have to pounce, we're all set.

I do not know how much they see through the Mist. I doubt it would matter to them if they knew the truth. Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters.

Yeah, well,” Nico said, “not giving people a second thought…that can be dangerous.

Deadlines just aren't real to me until I'm staring one in the face.

The Friday before winter break, my mom packed me an overnight bag and a few deadly weapons and took me to a new boarding school.