Almost everything strange washes up near Miami.

If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?

Sanchez looked at me and we locked eyes a second too long. There was nothing I could do about it. The signal went out. A moment of clear, silent hostility passed between us as hotly charged and unintentional as a thousand-volt arc through a squirrel.

Heroes like you always have a weak spot. We just have to find it, and then we can kill you. Won't that be lovely? Have a cheese 'n' Wiener!

Let me get this straight. Your table ran away because you polished it with Windex?

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 gave her a smile that I hoped conveyed something like: Hey, you know I’m on your side. Gods are such jerks! But what can you do? Probably my expression actually conveyed: It’s not my fault! Please do not kill me!