"Yeah, flattering." Percy raised Riptide. "But actually I'm the son of Poseidon. I'm from Camp Half-Blood."

Never bet against a cat.

Once I got over the fact that my Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though I was careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back the the way I trusted his front.

You speak horse?" Hazel asked. "Speaking to horses is a Poseidon thing," Percy said. "Uh, I mean a Neptune thing." "Then you and Arion should get along fine," Hazel said. "He's a son of Neptune too." Percy turned pale. "Excuse me?

Amos stopped before the entrance, which was the size of a garage door—a dark heavy square of timber with no visible handle or lock. “Carter after you.” “Um, how do I—” “How do you think?” Great another mystery. I was about to suggest we ram Amos’s head against it and see if that worked.

I knew Dionysus must've filled it out, because he stubbornly insisted on getting my name wrong: Dear _______Peter Johnson__________.

Their goal was in sight. They had a Titan with a very loud kitten on their side. That had to count for something.