Hello, Hazel Levesque.

Hey, moose!” I screamed. The Set animal locked its glowing eyes one me. Well done! Horus said. Now we’ll both die with honor! Shut up, I thought.

I headed towards the mountain, which was an almost irresistible beacon to my storm self. It glowed with heat, pressure, and turbulence—everything a little dust devil like me could want.

Don't die on me," she ordered. "You are not dying on me." "Yes, ma'am." He felt light-headed, but she was about the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her hair was smoldering. Her face was smudged with soot. She had a cut on her arm, her dress was torn, and she was missing a boot. Beautiful.

Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?

Fighting giants was one thing. Bacchus making into a game was something else.

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.