One the next corner stood a cinder block restaurant with a hand-painted sign that read CHICKEN & WAFFLES. There was a queue of twenty people outside. “You Americans have the strangest taste. What planet is this?

Now, you'll have to answer my questions." "Oh, very well," Set said. "I like Brazil for the World Cup. I'd advise investing in platinum and small-cap funds. And your lucky numbers this week are 2, 13--" "Not those questions!" Menshikov snapped.

Do you give up?" Shezmu bellowed. "No!" I yelled. "No, we don't give up. We will name you. Just . . . Gosh, you're quite well muscled, arn't you? Do you work out?

That was Hera. Her Majesty, the Loose Cannon.

The sign read MOUSE PASS GAS Frank: "That's wrong

What-what do you want?" Annabeth asked, trying to maintain a tone of confidence. The voice cackled maliciously. 'To curse you, of course! To destroy you thousand times in the name of Mother Night!' "Only a thousand times?" Percy murmured. "Oh, good...I thought we were in trouble.

I'd come to respect the bag.